


Abigail in Nassau

by twistedchick



Series: The Adventures of Abigail Ashe [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Friendship, Kidnapping, Murder, Obsession, Other, Reading, Stalking, pirates vs civilized folk, women's work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: The adventures of Abigail Ashe, confidential assistant to Governor Augustus Featherstone, and her friends in Nassau Town, starting about five years after the end of Black Sails.(Yes, the reference to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is intentional)





	1. Chapter 1

It took far less time than I expected for Nassau to become my home, but that happened in ways that I had not imagined.

The weather was always warm, but not unbearably so, with the constant breeze from offshore. The rainy season was wet, but not as cold as it had been in England. At first I felt overheated all the time in my English layers, until I learned to wear longer shifts instead of an under-petticoat, ignore the stockings and let the air move more around my legs. I also had to find more suitable shoes; the ankle boots that I had worn in London were unsuitable to the sand of Nassau. I found a shoemaker who made me what might in London be considered ‘court shoes’, with small bows on the toes, flat leather slippers with a tough thick bullhide sole that had been measured to fit my feet exactly. I wore them everywhere after that, saving the more elegant and less comfortable shoes from the past for official events.

I acquired friends, more than I had ever had even at school, for there I was the Colonial governor’s daughter, nobody whom one should spend the effort to get to know because she’d be gone to the other side of the ocean soon enough. But that was then. Here and now, I had half a dozen friends whom I saw all the time, in the course of my day.

Most of all, I had work to do that mattered, and that used my abilities, and a place in the world that was respected – something that, considering my previous life, I had never expected to have, in England or anywhere else.

I worked as Nassau Governor Augustus Featherstone’s assistant, his confidential secretary, helping him to administer the whole of New Providence Island and the town of Nassau, and to negotiate with the governments of neighboring islands and larger countries. I helped him and his friends to make sure official piracy stayed far away, and to make connections with legitimate markets for their goods in Boston and elsewhere. I served as their corporate memory keeper, their librarian, their reference source when necessary. And I helped make sure that the ‘goods’ did not include human beings sold as property.

At the start, I called my employer either Governor Featherstone or Mr. Featherstone, but he put an end to that about three days in.

“Call me Augustus, please, Miss Abigail. Mr. Featherstone was my da, and he wasn’t someone you wanted to see when he did show up.”

“I like Augustus; it’s a good name,” I said, since he seemed somewhere between embarrassed and distressed at asking me this. “From what I recall of history, he was one of the better Roman emperors.”

“You don’t mind, then?” He looked across the desk at me, and it struck me that he had probably never had to sit behind a desk like that until he had been made governor. He had spent his life on ships, or at the tavern, or upstairs there with Idelle, Max’s assistant in her businesses.

I shook my head. “I don’t mind. Would you mind if I called you Governor Featherstone when there are officials around, government people?”

“You do that. It’ll remind me to be on my best behavior with them, think twice before speaking and all that.” His customary twinkle was returning.

“You can call me Abigail, if you want,” I said in return. “When there aren’t government officials around.” 

And he did, from then on. It made him more comfortable – which was the purpose of my working for him – and it also helped me with his friends, who saw that he trusted me with the sort of confidential information that they themselves had held closely in the past. So they became my friends, too. It did not happen all at once, but over the course of the first year or two, as I eased into life in Nassau entirely on my own, without family or anyone to whom I need report my actions or my interests.

Working at the Governor’s Residence as his assistant was my public life, and it was good. I felt blessed to be able to use my education to such ends, and to live in a society where women were much more free than in London or Boston or Charles Town. I had met and become friends with Max, who disdained any title or other name despite being the most powerful woman on the island, and with Idelle, her assistant. And over a year or more, through my presence as secretary at meetings between Augustus and his advisors, I had met Captain Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny. Anne had looked me up and down the first time we were in the same room, but had reserved her judgment of me until months later. She and Jack had come back from a relatively quick journey to some of the other islands – I was still learning all the names, in all the languages – and had sat in on the council meeting to listen to the continuing debate on harbor management, which had not changed a bit, in my opinion, from all the earlier debates on harbor management.

The town council meeting had ended early – a storm-battered ship had limped into the harbor, and everyone wanted to know the news. I had stayed behind to organize my notes; the council had been about to move to discussing where a new storehouse should be located, and whether it should be owned by the merchants or owned by the town and rented to merchants, and there were many sides to the issue that I had looked into and written notes on. I gathered my notes together; I would not be passing them to Augustus this time, but would put them aside for the next time the subject arose. I did not realize that Anne, who had come to listen rather than to speak, had stayed behind until I looked up.

“You’re the one who was up in the fort, ain’t you?” Anne looked at me, rather than watching me; she rightly did not consider me a threat.

“Yes, I was.”

“I din’t meet you then, but I heard a lot. You’re not what I expected.” She sat on a chair near me, and leaned her elbows on her knees. I waited. After looking me over again and looking away, she said, “You know a lot, ‘bout a lot of things.”

“I’ve had to learn a great deal for this position, but I did have some education.” That depended on whether or not one could call a place a school that preferred training in court etiquette to a solid mastery of the classics, as well as some respectable equitation. I had learned far more by sneaking books out of the mistresses’ library and reading them on my own. At least the riding master had been capable and thorough.

“Fuck of a lot more than I had.” She leaned forward. “I’ve a favor to ask.” I must have appeared exceedingly wary, for she shook her head. “No penalty for saying no.”

“Go on.” I watched her face; she seemed to be struggling with the words.

“C’d you teach me to read better?” Anne said at last, hastening to add, “I c’n read whatever I need about sailing, an’ ships. Learned that long ago.” Her voice dropped. “But … I love hearin’ stories, and there’s stories in books. I’d like to be able to read ‘em more easily. An’ you c’n learn other stuff. I’d like to know more about this world.”

In that moment she reminded me so much of Isabella Ashford, begging me to tell her what I knew of Nassau, quietly and away from her parents’ certain disapproval – awkward, more than half expecting to be told no.

“I would enjoy that, very much,” I told her. “Let me look through the governor’s library and ask around to see if I can find something not too hard to start with. In English, I assume?”

She half-smiled. “I c’n understand Spanish some, and French some, but it’s not the words you’d want to hear.”

I gathered up my papers. “English it is. And might I ask you for a favor in return?” She nodded, her face interested, and I said, “Would you come down to the tavern and have a cup of coffee or wine with me? Max has asked me not to go there unaccompanied when a strange ship comes in, but I would dearly love some coffee. It felt like a very long meeting, even if it let out early, and there’s only tea in the kitchen here.”

“That crowd never knows when to shut their yaps.” Her smile became real, quirking at the corner, and together we moved toward the door.

The streets were empty as we walked along the cobblestone and dirt streets to reach the square, with its stores and businesses, its offices, the women and the tavern. I had learned to call things by their proper names here, but I did not call the tavern women whores, that all-purpose pejorative that men tended to use of any independent woman whose bodies they wanted to control. Besides, the lives of these working women were not what one would find in similar work in other cities. None of the women who worked there for Max did so except by their own choice. “Whoring” was their profession, as secretarial work was mine, and they were proud of their skills. If and when they wanted something different, Max found them other work among the many businesses she owned or managed. They nodded to me or waved hello as we came into the tavern, and I nodded and waved back as I made my way through the assorted tables.

A man whom I had not seen before tried to get in my way as we moved toward a table in the quiet far corner, so that my ‘respectability’ would not affect the women working on the other side of the room. Anne looked at him from under the brim of her hat.

“You know who I am?” she said, almost too quietly.

“Skinny bit of tail, with a mouth on you.” He tried again to get between us, cut me off from her. She refused to let it occur, stepping directly into his path and staring hard into his face until he backed up a step.

Anne raised her voice. “George, throw this one out. He’s too stupid to fuck.” And George, one of the tall, strong men Max hired to make sure everything stayed orderly, took him by the arms and walked him out, telling him along the way just who it was that he had annoyed.

“Shithead,” she muttered to herself. “Absolute fucking shithead.”

I sat down with her at a small table in the back, on the other side of the room from the bar. “So, the stories they tell about you are true.”

She frowned as she clenched and unclenched her hands, and I saw the scars across the palms, deep and red, with small crossing lines where there had been stitches to hold the skin together as they healed. “Most of ‘em.” Her gaze was direct. “That bother you?”

“To tell the truth, it’s a comfort.”

Anne’s glance swept the room, noticing the noisy strangers a few tables over who were showing off. They weren’t quite at the stage of incompetence and ignorance, but one more rum would put more than half of them them there. “Too many idiots. I’ll sort it.” She stood up, and the room slowly quieted. Her voice was clear, but not loud. “I’m Anne Bonny. Mess with her, y’ mess with me. Understand?” She sat down again. As the people on the other side of the room reshuffled and the women started taking some of them upstairs, she said, “You’re welcome.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Very much a comfort. Thank you, Miss Bonny.”

She snorted. “Ain’t never been Miss Bonny. I’m Anne.”

“I’m Abigail.”

“I’ve heard that word before.” Anne frowned. “Ain’t an abigail a kind of servant?”

“Yes, it’s the name for a maid who only takes care of women’s clothing. I can’t imagine what possessed them to name me that, though it's from the Bible also, so that may have been the reason. Fortunately, most people here don’t know the meaning of the word, so the name is not nearly the trial to me that it was in London.”

She had a pint tankard of small beer, and I drank coffee sweetened with a piece of sugarcane, several inches long, with half of the length pounded nearly to pulp, so it could stir the cup and sweeten it as well. It wasn’t a delicate china cup, but a half-pint tankard, and the coffee tasted delicious. And, refreshed by our drinks, we started exploring just how much Anne could read. Her eyesight was excellent, so she quietly read to me from everything with lettering on it within sight, from the bill of fare posted on a wall to the signs by the door and down the street as I took mental notes.

“You’re quite good already,” I said at length, after my second cup and her refill.

She scoffed. “’t’s all useful stuff.”

I considered. “How are you at reading handwriting instead of print?”

“All right.” She shrugged, long red hair shifting on her shoulder. “Long as it’s not that fancy.” She drew a calligraphic curlicue in the air with one narrow finger.

“Can you read mine?” She had been glancing at my notes in the council chamber.

She nodded. “Good plain hand.”

“Then if I can’t find books in English for you, I could translate some stories from Latin or French. Or maybe Spanish, though I am still learning Spanish.”

“You’d do that … for me?” Her voice was quietly awestruck, and I thought about the kind of life she had led that had made her not expect anyone to want to do anything good for her.

“Certainly. You asked me to teach you,” I said quietly, “and I need tools to do that. Stories. Books.” 

She got up, without ceremony, with one hand motioning to me to keep me where I was, and went to talk to Max, who was standing in the wooden doorway between the tavern itself and the summer kitchen in the back. Max listened, her eyes straying to me and then back to Anne’s intense expression, and she nodded once. The two of them came back to where I sat, and both sat down with me, Max on a chair Anne had pulled over from the next table.

Max leaned forward, to keep the conversation out of the ears of those at nearby tables, though the nearest were some four tables away. “Anne has told me what you plan to do. It is very kind of you. Perhaps I am wrong to ask if there is another reason besides kindness.”

Her challenge took me aback, but I rallied. “I believe that everyone has a right to read whatever they want.”

“Good enough.” Her eyes were still evaluating me, but more kindly, I felt. “You are doing something I cannot do – I am no teacher -- and I suppose that made me feel a little uncomfortable. But it is for Anne, who is dear to me.” 

I nodded; even in my earliest days in Nassau I had found that the relationships among Max, Anne and Jack were well known, not always understood but never doubted.

“Because of this, because it is for Anne, I will tell my people that you are welcome here at any time, to eat or drink whatever you want, and for free. It is the least I can do.” Her upper lip curled slightly. “Besides, since you are a ‘respectable’ woman, your presence can only improve the perceived quality of my establishment.”

Max was well aware that I would never be one of the women who worked for her there, but also that I did not consider myself their social superior in the way that more status-conscious Englishwomen might – or in the way of the plantation owners’ wives, who snubbed them whenever they encountered them. It was a side effect of my thorough experience of pirates, both good and bad; whichever way things went, they treated each other as equals. I was also a working woman, working with my hands and my mind; the only difference was that my work took place on paper and with words. But the mere fact of that work set me apart from the ladies I had known in the past, whose only work was arranging flowers or embroidering samplers, and from the plantation owners’ wives whose slaves paid the price of their ease.

“I’ll try not to upset the sailors,” I replied, and she chuckled, relaxing. “I can pay for my meals, you know.”

“I know. You are not the only one here who has a ‘special arrangement’ with me; this kind of thing is understood, and you are not here every day, abusing the privilege. And I have a favor to ask of you, also.”

I felt curious. Max had many business affairs, but I suspected she asked for very few favors. “What could I do for you?” I hoped it had nothing to do with political maneuvering; that was not my forte.

“It is not for myself. Some of the girls here are not so literate; they have friends or family in England or Providence or Boston that they would like to correspond with, but they do not have someone to write down their letters for them, or help them to read the replies.”

“I’d be happy to do that.” I smiled and relaxed a little in my chair. The muscles in my back tended to stiffen under the stays when I dealt with Max, because of her intensity; sitting between both Anne and Max only made it more so. “It is not a problem.”

“Good.” Max stood, and there was a warming blaze in the brief glance she exchanged with Anne. “I will send over some stew for you. And there is fresh bread, still warm.”

***

The residence hosted a fairly broad assortment of books, considering how far it was from any publisher. Some had been rescued from the previous governors’ personal collections when parts of the building had been torched during the first and second Spanish invasions. During the first invasion, many of the books had then been on the side of the original building that had been built with quarried stone left over from the fort. The maps and record books had been moved into the stone cellar beneath that area, and had been unaffected by the fire, though they had had to be dug out afterward when some of the burnt timbers came down. Some books had no acknowledged provenance, and the rest were ones that Augustus or his friends had acquired. All told, there were more than a hundred books in the building, more than I had seen in either Charles Town or Savannah.

“Augustus.” When he did not respond, I added, “Sir.”

“Hmm?” He looked up from a letter from the governor of Bermuda, which would be handed to me for a reply in due time. “What is it?”

“Would it be possible for one or two of the ships that call here to pick up some newspapers, in whatever cities they visit?” When his eyebrows rose, I added, “It would be good to know more of what’s happening in the world.”

“Hmm. Yes. We can do that. Any papers in particular?” 

“Whatever is available.” I drew a breath. “As I recall, you said that Nassau did not hear of the Scottish uprising in 1715 for a year –“

“That’s true. And later we were busy with the Spanish invading, among other things.” His tone was wry. “But it does explain why we had so many Scots coming onto the account in the year or two after.”

“The thing is, we don’t know enough of what the Spanish are up to now, or what is being said in Parliament about these islands, or what the Netherlands are doing, or the king of France or anyone anywhere else – other than dockside rumors. I’d like to see less of a gap in our knowledge of other governments’ behavior, because it will affect us sooner or later.”

“True, true.” He tapped the side of a goose quill against the letter in his hand, a nervous gesture I had seen him use when he was thinking. “You might talk with Jack about it; he loves to read, though he won’t admit it to many.”

Ahh. That explained a lot about Anne’s desire to read for herself.

“I’ll do that.” I paused. “Would you like me to draft a reply to this for you?”

“No, thanks, not yet. I’m considering several ways to tell him he’s wrong. When I’ve got them listed you can tell me which you think will be most effective.”

***

“Newspapers?” Jack Rackham snorted. “You can’t believe everything you read in newspapers. And you can’t believe anything they say about us in them, either.”

We were sitting at what had become my all-but-official office, the table in the far back corner at the tavern. I was well aware by this time that when Jack said “us” in that tone of voice he did not mean local residents but pirates, past and present. 

“I want to know what is happening in other countries, Jack. We need to know the published affairs of government, so we are aware of what is and is not being said.” 

“You sound like Max.”

“Thank you.”

Jack snorted again. He had never been Mr. Rackham to me, not even when I first arrived, though when seafaring was concerned I did call him Captain Rackham. In early middle age, he was lanky and loose-limbed, active and interested in everything, though his hair was sprinkled with gray and the lines on his face were deepening with every trip spent staring toward a horizon. And he wore the most elegant coats and waistcoats that I had yet seen, with exquisite tailoring and fine decorative braided trim. They were a far cry from the random clothing that I saw on many other men. Townsmen patronized tailors, but most sailors apparently wore whatever they could find that would allow them to do their work without restriction – effective, and at times decorative, as I had seen, but not something one would consider well-made or fashionable.

“Does this have anything to do with why Anne has been muttering odd words under her breath?” He lifted one eyebrow inquisitively.

“Since I don’t know what Anne is muttering under her breath, I can’t say. But it is possible.”

He sent me a direct look through his fringe, which appeared to have been hacked off just above his eyebrows. I suspected that he’d changed barbers; he did visit a local barber for a trim when he was in port long enough. The previous barber had been able to trim it much straighter across. 

“For the record, I approve of Anne reading. I approve of whatever makes her happy.”

I gave him a sideward glance. The possessiveness of that comment had irked me. “I hope you realize I’d teach her whether you approve or not. What she wants to learn is her business.”

He dropped the paper and put his hands up as if to ward me off. “No, no, you misunderstand. I know that it’s her business. I am saying I will help in whatever way is necessary, if it keeps Anne happy, and not just because she’s my partner.” His face softened, as it always did where Anne was concerned. “She is the other half of my life, some would say the better part.”

I smiled at him, and we both relaxed a bit. “I apologize. My life has contained far too many men who thought they owned me.” 

“And several were pirates. I do understand.” The weathered wrinkles around his dark eyes crinkled, but for a moment I could see beneath them the teenager who had gone off with a younger Anne beside him, and very little else, to conquer the world. I pulled my thoughts together with an effort.

“In that case, newspapers of whatever kind are available, from well-known official presses and broadsheets from back-street pamphleteers. Only, nothing too religious, please. No tracts from Bible societies.” I was thinking of poor Billy Bones, and his pamphleteer childhood; I had been told that he had died under mysterious circumstances near Skeleton Island. “I’ll leave it to you to find some satire, perhaps.”

“Satire?” His eyebrows rose. “A well-bred and well-educated Englishwoman wants to read satire? What will the world see next?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps an ex-tailor reading newspapers.”

His eyebrows achieved more height, corrugating his brow like the side of a coil of rope. “Who told you? Not that it’s a state secret or anything.”

“There’s a pin sticking out from the trim on your placket, third button down. A very small one.”

“I wondered where that went. Thank you.” He pushed it in further so it would not protrude. “It can be difficult to get them here. And,” his voice dropped, “yes, I do adjust my own waistcoats and coats; nobody else can get them to fit me the way I like.” He tilted his head, considering me for a moment. “Have you met Cristina yet? She is an excellent seamstress, new to the island, and I suspect you might want more dresses at some point.”

I had very few dresses. I had had to take in the seams and drop the hems of the ones I had brought from Savannah, as I had lost weight and gained height since coming to the island. Why I should have grown taller was a mystery to me, although I realized that I stood straighter now that I did not feel the need to hide. I also had two from Jamaica that I had bought with some of my ‘escape’ money on the way to Nassau. It had been a while; they were becoming worn.

“If you have the opportunity to pick up some good lightweight cloth that will wear well in this island’s climate, I would love to have a new dress. Not pale yellow sprigged muslin, though,” I added apologetically. “I wore that one dress for far too long; I don’t even want to look at the cloth again. But blue or green wouldn’t be bad.”

“I can do that easily. We’re heading out soon; I can talk to some cloth merchants and get you a bargain. And as for the newspapers, I will speak to the captain of the Fairlight, which leaves for Boston tomorrow, and see what the Colonies can provide. The Tansy is due from London soon; we can ask them for the Times on their return trip, and see if their captain would be willing to pick up other things as well.” He took a deep draught of beer. “Doubtless I’ll find some way to acquire more reading material for you. Anything else you’d like? A pianoforte? A tall young sailor to sweep you off your feet?”

“There’s a pianoforte at the residence, but it is old and sorely in need of tuning; if you know someone who can do that, please send him over. As for the sailor?” I viewed the rest of the room, where tall, young, and not-so-tall and not-so-young sailors were making the acquaintance of Max’s girls in order to make the most of their time ashore. “I would not want to keep Max’s staff from earning a living.”

Jack laughed, a bright sound that warmed me. “I like you, Lady Abigail. You realize you would be a lady in England, if you were there. Lady Abigail Ashe.”

In all the time since I left Savannah – actually, since I had left England -- I had not thought of that. Would Lady Abigail have worked as a governess? Would she have been able to escape _soi-disant_ civilization, as I had? But then, Miranda Hamilton had, and so had Eleanor Guthrie, both women of some standing and, in Miranda’s case, noble connections.

“I left all of that behind me. Peter Ashe has no living descendants, as far as the world knows, and I am happy with that. Lady Ashe is another woman, if she even exists. It’s possible that a third cousin might still be around with that title, but I’d rather be here.”

“So would I.” He leaned back in his chair and cocked a head toward Eme, the freedwoman who was waiting on tables. “Another round, please.”

***

Anne and I met daily, whenever she was ashore, and when I ran out of books for her to read I translated bits of Caesar’s Gallic Wars for her. She scoffed at them at first.

“The fuck h’ve I got to do with Gallic Wars? You sure y’ don’t mean garlic wars?”

I went to the bookshelf and took down a huge and heavy atlas, and thumped it onto the table. Sometimes, the best way to deal with Anne’s comments was to give her something else to think about. I flipped it open to a map of Europe.

“The names of places change over time. You know where Rome is, I know.”

Her finger landed on Rome on the page. “Been there, with Jack, once.”

“It was still Rome back then, but France wasn’t called France. Here’s where Gaul was.” I swept my fingers across France, Germany, the Low Countries, the Alps in the western part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. “That is a long way from home for a man with an army, and far into enemy territory. What Caesar is doing is writing letters back to the people who gave him the army, to tell them what he’s doing with it.”

“Ahh.” She leaned over the map, which indicated some topographical details. “Mountains there, right? Lot o’ distance. He c’d be telling the people in Rome only what they want t’ hear.”

“It’s possible.”

She nodded and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, from where it had fallen to touch the map. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

I was startled. “You’ve read Shakespeare?”

“Why’d you say that?”

“You just quoted a line from Shakespeare’s ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth.’” It was misquoted, but I did not want to discourage her.

“And who the fuck’s he when he’s at home?”

“Macbeth was a king of Scotland, who met witches who told him what would happen in his life, and it all happened.”

“Is it bloody?”

“Oh yes. Very much so.”

“Fuck, I’d like to read that one, too, so’s I can surprise Jack with it on the ship, next time we sail.”

I smiled at her. “We can do that. It’s a play – we can each read a character or two.” I put Caesar away. “Let’s do that now, and I’ll translate some of Caesar for you while you’re away. Macbeth is more fun with two voices.”


	2. Chapter 2

And so life proceeded. 

When Anne was in port, we read together; when she was not, I read ahead so I could attempt to explain whenever she needed explanation, which was less often as we went on. For my own pleasure I translated French poetry, and continued to pick my way slowly into learning Spanish, acquiring new words from trade documents and the small number of works in Spanish that were on the shelves in the library, such as _El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha_. I thought of reading _Le Morte d’Arthur_ with Anne, possibly in the winter, but put it off as too advanced for now. It was “bloody” enough for her taste, but the archaic English of Mallory gave me some difficulty, so it might be close to impenetrable for her. And I thought, sadly, of Miranda’s books, lost to fire. She had spoken well of _Don Quixote_ and of other books she had read with Thomas, and later with James, and now I had no way to know what those were.

Jack had been as good as his word. Every captain had been informed that the governor needed newspapers from wherever his ship sailed, and had been given sufficient funds to buy them and bring them back. Jack had also set up accounts with booksellers in London and Boston, and we received copies of all sorts of things, whatever was being published and read. Fewer of them came from the Colonies, since they received much of their own stock from England. It was from London that we obtained a novel, published anonymously, which I read with much interest and then took down to the tavern to loan to Max.

“ _The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, Who was born in Newgate, and during a life of continu'd Variety for Threescore Years, besides her Childhood, was Twelve Years a Whore, five times a Wife (whereof once to her brother) Twelve Years a Thief, Eight Years a Transported Felon in Virginia, at last grew Rich, liv'd Honest and died a Penitent_?” Max’s eyebrows knotted and smoothed. “The ladies of London read this?”

“Properly sheltered younger ladies do not – it is considered too improper for them – but men do, and some women do. And I liked it.” I smiled at her. We had become friends, to the degree that she would allow anyone to be a friend, and not only because reading with me made Anne happier. I had written letters for Max’s employees, for any who wanted help, and read the replies aloud to them, comforted them when the news was sad and rejoiced with them when it was happy. “It’s not as if you don’t understand the subject.”

“That is true. Well, I might learn something new.” She tucked the book under her arm. “Thank you for thinking of me. Does Augustus know I have it?”

“Two booksellers sent copies; he has the other one. This one is for lending to friends.”

“An excellent thought. I will have to find something particularly nice to do for him.” She smiled at me as she moved back toward the stairs, moving in a stately way up to her office.

The autumn weather was blustery as I walked back toward the governor’s mansion. I pulled the cloak around me a little more tightly, and raised the hood over my head as it began to rain. Even though the air did not have the chill I still half expected at that time of year, I did not want to get my dress wet and have to sit around feeling damp the rest of the day. I walked uphill thinking that if the weather held it might make incoming ships more infrequent for a while. 

The dress was a new one that Jack’s friend, Cristina, had made for me. She had begun a business of sewing for Max’s employees, but when she saw me she pulled out designs she had made for Max that had been refused by the other women as too conservative, or too similar to what Max already wore. I had liked several of them, and Jack had supplied the cloth at a reasonable price. As a result, I had three new dresses; this one was blue and white calico, small checks, cut so that the fabric would float a little in the constant breeze, but not so light as to be transparent, with the bodice trimmed in a darker indigo. It felt soft and comfortable, but was a little too summery for the weather that had blown in, hence the lightweight cloak I kept from England, which was still too heavy for Nassau. Cristina was making me one of my own, but that was not finished yet.

And out of the corner of my eye I saw a tall, ragged figure in the shadows under the shelter of a tree, watching me. I took note of him, but I could also see Marcus, one of the governor’s footmen, at the residence door not too far ahead of me, and so I felt no fear. The figure seemed to become still, as if to stare a little harder at me, then turned and went around the edge of the blacksmith’s shop, toward the trees. The Minerva was in port; it was possible that one of her crew had gotten turned around while drunk. It was not my affair. I greeted Marcus, and went in, and put the man in the shadows out of my mind.

***

A few days later, when I went down to the tavern in mid-afternoon for a break, after taking notes for several hours on a particularly trying meeting between the governor and a Dutch envoy from Sant Maarten, I found that the Artemis had sailed before the last night’s storm, and so the place was nearly empty of sailors, though there were townsmen there. The women waved or nodded to me as I passed their tables, where they drank small beer and continued their conversation.

“What do you expect? No man really understands this life.” 

“Maybe it’s different in London. They got all those laws and such.”

“So they do. Max says it’s made up, not true, but it’s interesting, to hear her read it.”

“Doesn’t have to be real to be true, if it tells the truth ‘bout us.”

I smiled to myself, brought the small copy of _As You Like It_ from under my new cloak, and asked Eme for coffee and bread. She looked over my shoulder at the oddly spaced type of the script.

“I have not seen anything like that before,” she commented.

“It’s a play,” I said. Her face still showed confusion. “A performance. People learn the lines – the words – and say them, and act, to entertain others.”

Eme took this in. “What is this about?”

“Two women, related to a ruler, who have left their home for the forest because the ruler was overthrown by his brother. There they meet some people who live in the forest, and some who have also run away to be there, and in the end the ruler recovers his throne and they go home.”

“That is a happy story, even if it has difficulties in the middle.” Eme said, and went to get my food.

***

What had started as a temperate autumn was followed by a winter of storms. Few ships dared to put to sea in the face of hurricanes, though the island was fortunate in that only one of them struck with any fierceness, and that storm did little more than flooding the beach and the lower town for a day and ripping shingles from the roofs of buildings. The children and the sailors caught fish flopping in the streets and on the beach that they sold to the tavern or took home, and everyone in Nassau ate fish stew or fried fish until they ran out. Whoever had extra fish dried them or smoked them over the nearest fire or salted them, to save for later. The carpenters repaired the roofs reasonably quickly, and the rooms that had been drenched were aired out. It was nothing new to anyone on the island.

Then came a report, and then another and another, of depredations upon the smaller livestock on some of the upland farms and plantations – goats, geese, ducks or chickens gone missing for no good reason, taken out of their pens or snatched away from wherever they were feeding, places that had never had trouble before. This started just after a storm, and it was assumed at first that the unfortunate birds had been killed by the wind and rain, but no feathers or bodies had ever been found – and then it happened during a week of good weather. On an island this small and without any large native predators like wolves or bears, this was a concern and a cause for alarm. Farmers stood watch over their animals, some of them bringing their goats and fowl into their homes with them at night to keep them safe. The market in guard dogs was brisk for a time, as well. But after another week or so, when no more animals had been taken, the farmers’ conversations went back to the weather, crop sales, and so on.

And then there was my ghost.

Off and on, during the next month, I kept seeing the figure of a tall, thin, unknown man off to the side, in the alleys, always at a distance but always watching me, when I moved about town. I mentioned this to Max, and she detailed one of her men to walk me back to the governor’s mansion whenever I visited the tavern. I appreciated that greatly. I was still thinking that it might be a sailor I didn’t know, wandering around, though to be honest I was not entirely comfortable with the thought of random sailors watching me out there when I was not at the residence or at Max’s. I tried not to think of it, and continued my life.

But I did not mention it to Augustus until the afternoon when I saw the man standing, leaning lazily against a wall in the shadows at the other end of an alley, casually eating what appeared to be the remains of a roasted goat leg. He was tall, very tall, with shoulder-length, unkempt hair, squared shoulders and long legs, and an oval head. Once I was inside, I went to my room and took out paper and a bit of charred wood from the fireplace, and drew what I remembered – the angle of his legs, the shape of his head, light against shadow, the length of his arms, the ragged edges on his breeches. And I sat down, because my legs were shaking and my hands were shaking and all I could do was hold onto the table and try not to fall apart. The charcoal crumbled in my hand, broken bits making streaks on my skirt as they fell to the floor.

I did not hear the first knock at the door. The second knock made me drop the rest of the charcoal, which rolled under the bed. “What- what is it?”

“Are you all right, miss?” It was Sadie. “Mr. Featherstone was looking for you.”

“I’ll be right there.” I drew a deep breath to calm myself, rolled up the paper, tucked it under my arm and went to his office.

“Abigail, if you would – whatever is wrong? Please, sit down.” He eased me into a chair and poured me a dram with his own hands. “What is it? Please tell me what happened.”

It was the best Scotch that Max could find, imported from Glasgow, and it went down like fire. I coughed a moment and he waited. I put the sketch on the desk beside where I sat.

“I’ve been seeing this man around town, always off to the side, always at the other end of alleys. And today he was eating a roasted goat leg.” My voice shook, though I tried so hard to stop it. “He always stares at me, the way Ned Low did.” I shuddered with remembrance. 

“Oh, my dear girl. Oh, no. No, no.” Augustus sat in the other chair near me, not on the other side of his desk. “Ned Low is dead and gone, long gone.”

“I know. Charles Vane told me, and I was glad of it. But being followed like this, being watched brings it all back.” I said, as I felt my heartbeat slow down from the racing speed of panic. “And it didn’t occur to me to think of him till now.” I sipped the scotch and coughed again a little; it tasted strong and life-giving. “Charles Vane is not alive, I think, and he would not have watched me from the shadows.”

Augustus looked away, his expression deeply saddened. “No, the English governor’s militia hanged him in the square. He spoke beforehand, reminding the crowd that there were more of them than of the governor’s men, and that the reason he was being killed was to make them afraid. That was the start of the people’s rebellion here.”

I had heard of the rebellion, and of how what had been a pirate stronghold had fought back against the British, and then against a Spanish assault sanctioned by the English governor, and then had, with the help of investors in the Colonies, become legitimate again. And I knew that most of the men I saw and spoke with every day had at one time or another been pirates. That was ancient history, and allowed to stay so, except for legends and tales told in the tavern, most of the time.

He looked at the sketch again, giving it his full attention. “How tall, do you think?”

“It’s hard to say.” I was small enough that most men towered over me. “Taller than Jack Rackham, I think. As tall as Martin, or Captain Flint, maybe taller.” I still thought of Flint as James McGraw, but kept that to myself, since that name was not generally known.

Augustus took this in, his mouth tightening. He stood and went to pull a bell, and Tobermore, the other footman, came quickly. “Would you please go to the tavern and ask Captain Rackham to come up here? Tell him it’s important. And ask Sadie to bring up some tea and restorative biscuits for Miss Abigail, if she would be so good.”

Tobermore looked from me to Augustus, bowed his head and left. Augustus stood by the window, staring toward the end of the alley, which was hidden from view by trees and the corners of buildings, until Sadie came in with a tray holding a china teapot, two cups, and some biscuits and jam. She looked at me with worry, and I tried to smile at her, but the smile seemed off, and she glanced at Augustus for reassurance that I was all right before she left again.

I tipped the rest of my whiskey into the tea, which helped. Eating a couple of sweet biscuits brought me back to myself more, as well. I was no longer the child imprisoned in the fort’s foul dungeon, with only wormy bread to eat and no one to aid her. I was the assistant to the most powerful man in Nassau, drinking good Darjeeling from India and eating biscuits that could have graced a lord’s table. I was not without resources, though I was without wealth. I was not going to allow myself to be haunted by the past. 

Jack came in a few minutes later, nearly at a run, slamming the heavy door back. “What’s wrong? Tobermore said it was urgent.” He shook his damp hair back from his eyes.

Augustus handed him my sketch. 

“This is wh- wha – who I saw, coming back here from the tavern today.” My voice shook, which I despised, but could not entirely control. “And I’ve s-seen him before, but never so close. He’s been in the alleys, watching m-me, off and on for weeks. At first I thought he was on one of the ships, but he’s here when there are no ships in the harbor.”

“Like now.” Jack stared at the paper. “No. That’s impossible.”

“Do you think it’s who I thought it was?” Augustus asked.

That was more convoluted than most of Augustus’s sentences, and it put me on edge. “Who are you talking about?” My voice was a bit sharper than usual.

Jack shook his head as if to force his thoughts back into order, and looked at me, assessing me in a way he had not done since I arrived in Nassau. “I will tell you what happened if you will swear to me never to reveal it to a living soul. And that includes Anne; she wasn’t with me at the time.”

Thoroughly alarmed, I swore not to tell anyone what I heard. 

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. It’s only that this is something best kept, er, among pirates. Not a matter for those who weren’t on the account.” Jack said. He nodded to Augustus, who went to the door and asked Tobermore, who was standing nearby in the hall in case he was needed, to take a break and get himself something to drink in the kitchen. Augustus waited until Tobermore had left to lock the door.

I took another sip of the tea, and tried to steady my hand on the handle of the teacup. I also tried not to notice all the glances that were being exchanged over my head by Augustus and Jack, but that was impossible.

Jack’s voice was sober and quieter than I’d ever heard from him before. “You’ve drawn a sketch of Billy Bones, Abigail – but he should be dead. After the battle of Skeleton Island, he was left there among the wrecks.”

“But why?” I remembered the tall, handsome man who had seemed so polite aboard James’s ship, and the story James had told me about how he had come to be there.

“Billy Bones was a traitor.” Jack’s voice roughened. It sounded as if it came from a different man, darker, harsh and rusty, and I realized that this was the voice he used when something hurt him so badly that he kept it inside as if to hide it from himself. “He sold himself to the English governor, sided with the English when they burned the Walrus – the ship you sailed on – at Skeleton Island, and shot members of his own crew as they swam or scrambled up the beach.” His face was stark, remembering. “They had been his brothers for years, and he slaughtered them when they were floating in the water, helpless to fight back.” 

I closed my eyes in horror, but the images he described seemed to be painted on the insides of my eyelids, so I opened them again and stared at the small fire in the fireplace, which had been lit to ward off the dampness. “What could make a man do such a thing?” Neither of them answered; perhaps neither could. “Where has he been since then?”

“Dead, or so I thought; so we all thought. Flint fought him up in the rigging and he went overboard, some distance off the coast of that island. There was no reason to think he’d live, wounded and in waters where sharks were seen.” He shook himself and came back to the present. “The island isn’t barren; it has wildlife, plants, birds, probably some small animals, some fish other than the sharks. He could have found a way to stay alive – but no ships go there unless driven by storms. Skeleton Island appears on no mariner’s map because it’s considered to be cursed, haunted by the spirits of all those who have died there – and hundreds have. The only way for him to escape would be to build a boat for himself and sail or row to another island.”

“Could he do that?” I asked.

Augustus considered the question. “He was a boatswain --- he has the skills to do many things aboard a ship. Strong swimmer, too. If he managed to swim down into what was left of the Walrus and obtain tools, it … could be possible, if he managed to carry water and food with him. That’s a very long way from anywhere else.”

“He’s mad, though, any way you think of it.” Jack poured himself a scotch and slammed it back as though it were nothing, his voice still strained and hard. “He was close to the edge of insanity a few times when we knew him, and by now he’s completely over it. He held a knife to Madi’s throat, when the English kept her prisoner on the Lion, just before the fight I spoke of, and talked to her in words that made no sense but terrified her. She remembered what he said and told us later.”

I had met Madi once, a year before, the woman who would, when her mother passed, be the unquestioned ruler of a settlement of a thousand maroons. She had not seemed to me to be a woman who was easily frightened.

Despite the warmth in the room, I shivered. Outside, the afternoon rain beat down on the glass.

Augustus saw the shiver and nodded decisively. “I’ll talk with the regimental commander, put the word out. If Billy can be found, find him. Shoot in self-defense and don’t let him get within an arm’s length, because he’s very good with a sword. He is not to be trusted at all, by anyone.”

Jack considered for a moment. “If he’s allowing you to see him, you’ll need protection. Augustus, how good are your footmen at fighting?”

Augustus shook his head. “Tobermore was on the account for a while, but it wasn’t the life for him and he decided to leave it. Marcus came here after it was over and never had the chance to do it. They’re strong, good lads, but Billy could walk right through them – not that I’d tell either of them that. Tobermore’s a decent hand with a sword, but Marcus isn’t trained. But they weren’t hired as armed guards. That’s what the militia is supposed to be for. I could ask the fort to detail some of the guards here – technically they are here for my defense as well as the town’s – but word would get out. The last thing I need is for the town councilmen to get up in arms about a pirate.”

Jack shook his head a little. His expression seemed equally divided between disgust and frustration. “I wouldn’t put it past Billy to listen at the windows, either. Thank heaven we’re on the second floor without a balcony.” 

I poured myself more tea – my hand barely shook and it all went into the cup – and drank it, trying to think instead of feel the panic that fluttered at the edges of my mind. I needed to be able to be rational. I didn’t want to have to think of Billy Bones finding a way to climb up and into an upper-floor window; he was tall and long-armed, and probably could climb a wall as easily as one of those rope ladders on shipboard. 

Jack had been pacing; he stopped and turned to me. “A thought: would you object to temporarily sleeping in the servants’ quarters upstairs, instead of your usual room? There would be more people around to hear and call to for help if anything happened, for one thing.”

“I’ve slept in much worse places,” I said, and he took that as I had meant it, as a statement of fact. “I could ask Sadie to trade places with me – she would have my bed and I, hers.”

“You’re much the same size; that wouldn’t be bad.” Jack chewed the corner of his moustache. “Would you mind having Anne as an armed guard? She could stay in the room with you. That would be much better than having any number of footmen.”

“Would Anne mind?” I asked.

“I think she’d do her best to keep you alive and well, no matter what. Anne likes you, Abigail. She thinks of you as one of us, even though you weren’t here from the start.”

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I thought of all the things I’d heard about that had gone on before I had arrived, all of which I had missed. “But –“

“You know us,” Jack said. “You believe in us and what we can do for good, and you’re helping to create a new world. And you’ve seen pirates at their worst and at their best. Of course you’re one of us. What else could you possibly be?”

***

I had learned, over the course of my life so far, not to judge any group by the behavior of one or two people.

Many of my friends in Nassau had been pirates in the past, but I felt safe with them. Most had been through so much that they did not want to put others through anything similar. There were exceptions, but they proved the generality. Whatever life had given Ned Low, he had responded with violence and lunacy that had made me cringe with fear and burn with inner anger at my helplessness; I could not be sorry that he had met a public and final end, his head on a post in the sand. On the other hand, James McGraw had made me want to stand tall, because he had lost everything from his life that he had held dear, and still found within himself the strength to build again, and again, even though one of those rebuilt lives had been the tough and violent Captain Flint.

Even while knowing that Charles Vane was dead, I almost wished that he had been the man in the alley. From my own experience, I had found him rational, plainspoken and unsentimental. To Jack Rackham, for whom Charles had been a close friend, Charles had been kind, thoughtful and brave beyond reason. If he had been the one lounging against that wall until I passed, he would have straightened up and walked over to speak with me. I might not have wanted to hear what he would say, but he would have been honest with me, and would not have misled me or offered violence against me. His reputation with women, whatever one might have said of his turbulent and confusing relationship with Eleanor, was one of reasonable respect, as far as I’d heard. And by no account had he ever been considered mad with the sort of raving insanity that seemed to grip Billy Bones now.

It could be hard at times to know how to think of some of these men. I knew quite a few had renounced the account, or had simply moved on to a different life that suited their talents better, while some had quietly stayed on the account for a while even after Augustus became governor, because that was the life they knew best. Some of those who left brought the skills they had learned on the account – shipbuilding, blacksmithing, gunsmithing, woodworking, even cooking – to jobs on the land. Others, among crews who had taken the King’s pardon, had moved toward legitimate merchant business for the sake of profit, while retaining their customary democracy with regard to the crew’s choosing the captain, something that did not occur with merchant ships whose crews had not been pirates, and certainly did not occur in the Royal Navy. Everything they had done was designed to allow them to retain the liberty they had spent so much energy to keep, but they also wanted this liberty for others around themselves – a form of generosity I had not found within civilized society.

Anne was that way also. Because of her experiences, which had been complicated and dangerous, she could be quite protective of those whom she thought needed her care, whether they be a stray cat in the tavern or Jack Rackham himself. I had watched her work her way through a repertory of exercises she’d found that would help to keep her hands limber, so that she would not lose the ability to wield a sword in either hand. I could trust her to keep me safe, and to always, always tell me the truth, whether it be laced with ‘fucks’ or not. Her language never offended me; I would rather hear truth told profanely than lies told with sweet words. I had had more than enough of those in my life already.

***

Sadie agreed to change rooms and to bring whatever I might need up to me every morning. Marcus had been asked to keep watch outside her door at night, with the door unlocked. This was agreeable to all concerned, and Tobermore agreed to take over Martin’s morning duties so he could sleep after the evening’s watch. I had told Sadie about how Billy Bones had changed from the polite man I had met aboard Flint’s ship to the traitorous, driven madman he had been when he went into the water off Skeleton Island.

Sadie’s attitude was brisk. “Don’t you worry, miss. They’ll take care of him, right as rain. And I’ll make sure your room is still as you like it when you get it back.”

“Be sure to call Marcus for help if anything seems wrong,” I reminded her. “A shadow at the window, an odd sound…”

“That I will, miss. They’ll hear me down to the harbor.”

I spoke to the housekeeper, Mrs. Purdy, a sturdy quiet woman who managed everything that happened in the house as if the largest social events were no more than an afternoon tea for two. I never knew whether she approved of me or not. She seemed to think that approval of anything other than her work or that of those she supervised was not part of her job. As it was, she saw to it that a trundle bed was carried up, made up with a spare mattress and sheets, and put under Sadie’s own bed in the attic, so it would be handy for Anne any time she needed it. Between that and Sadie’s bed, most of the floor was covered, but that was not a disadvantage; the less than ideal footing that remained in the darkness would make it all the more difficult for anyone to disturb us without our knowing.

Since Anne would be with me during the day, as well as any number of other people and Harrison as well, I would be well looked-after in daylight hours.

Harrison had become the man of all work for the governor’s residence since the day when Augustus picked him out to carry my luggage up from the ship at my arrival. This had a slightly different meaning here than in England. There, it meant that he could and would do all the work; here, it meant that he could do nearly anything but would hire and oversee men for whatever physical labor the governor wanted done, whether it be to build a new warehouse or repair the road or paint the residence. From something that Harrison let slip one day, I learned that I reminded him of his sister back in Nottinghamshire, who had always stood by him while he was growing up. Whatever this may have meant to him, the result was that he was never further away than the next table at the tavern, and I grew accustomed to having him within hearing of conversations there without any worry that he might spread them further. Having him there allowed Anne to have time off, for which she was grateful. She had sparred with him one afternoon and determined that he knew what he was doing with a sword, at least to her satisfaction.

At night, though, it was different. At night, I was grateful that Anne was only an arms-length away. While we lay in the darkness, staring at the sky through the narrow clerestory window, she would quietly answer my questions about Nassau and the people who had made it their home.

She had told me a little about Edward Teach, from her one trip with him, enough that I was silently glad not to have had to deal with him, though I did not say so, as well as a couple of the stories of Avery, who was one of the founders of Nassau.

“What happened to Captain Flint, after the battle at Skeleton Island? He was so firm in wanting a free Nassau, I expected to find him here.”

“I dunno,” she admitted. “I was in Philadelphia. Why?”

“He was kind to me, when I needed it most,” I told her.

I could see her head moving in the dim moonlight coming through the curtains, a single nod of agreement “We all need that sometimes.” After a while she continued. “Jack ‘d know. When the men from the governor’s ship set the Walrus afire, and Billy was shootin’ his brothers, Flint ‘n’ Silver were on the island. I know that ‘cause Jack said they was rescued with a handful more, after that fuck Rogers’ ship backed off. And Flint was with Jack when they took down the governor, treacherous fuck that he was. The governor, not Flint.”

I stored that away, and fell asleep listening to the breeze whispering to itself in the cane fields.

***

One of the ships had come in with a small bale of newspapers, tied with string, and delivered to the residence. I sorted them and put the more political ones on Augustus’s desk; the other half, which had more gossip and other matters, went to the tavern. Max would get what she wanted of the political ones as well, after Augustus had taken his time with them.

Anne, Jack and I sat at the back table in the tavern, handing them back and forth and reading them; because it was so public and filled with people, it was unlikely in the extreme that Billy would show himself there. Nothing official was happening at the residence; at the moment, Augustus was upstairs with Idelle, and the next meeting of the town council wasn’t for a week. So we read, our reading interspersed with Jack’s frequent critique of the nature of the news, the style in which it was written, and the paucity of actual facts within it.

“Jack, I’ve wanted to ask you …”

“I’m not taking you on as crew, Abigail.” That was a longstanding joke between us, since he was well aware that I would be happy the rest of my life if I never had to go on an ocean voyage again.

“That’s not the question.” I said, and continued with the question that had stayed on my mind for so long. “What happened to Captain Flint?” He had been gone when I arrived in Nassau, and nobody spoke of him in public, as if to speak of him would be to conjure his presence in its fiercest form.

He dropped the joking at once. “Captain Flint as we knew him is gone. The man who was Flint is not dead, however.” I must have looked confused, for he continued, “The short answer is that he resumed his previous identity and found a place to live peacefully with a good friend.” He looked over the top edge of his spectacles at me; he had begun to wear them in the last year or so for reading. “Will that do for now? I’m not sure why you’re so concerned about him.”

“He was very kind, on the trip to Charles Town. And I met him, back before everything happened, when I was a child in London,” I said. “He was in the navy then, so handsome in his uniform, very young. He was a friend to some of my father’s friends, so I met him at their home and remembered him. It must have been… at least fifteen years ago.”

“Ah,” Jack said, and turned back to a previous page, which showed illustrations of the latest men’s waistcoat styles and descriptions of various cravat-tying methods, only a few months old.

Anne slanted her eyes at me. I hadn’t lied but she knew I had not said all that I could have. 

But she waited until that evening to ask me, as we lay in the shadowy darkness. The only light in the room was the moonlight through the narrow clerestory window tucked under the eaves, tipped ever so slightly open to give us some small air flow. The outdoor air smelled fresh, after the rain.

“What didn’t y’ say, when you was talking with Jack about Flint?”

I shrugged and waved a hand that she probably didn’t see. “Nothing solid, just impressions ... when nobody notices you, you can see more of what is going on with other people than they want you to know.”

“Yeah. Comes in handy aboard ship.” 

In the stable below, behind the house, a horse shifted in its stall and kicked the gate with a shod hoof, a dull wooden thud. We both stilled and listened, but heard neither footsteps nor hoofbeats, and after a long moment breathed again.

“James – Captain Flint – was always seen with Thomas and Miranda Hamilton.” In my mind I could see them, from so long ago, all so tall and elegantly dressed, all laughing about some joke. “Miranda was here on the island after Eleanor rescued me from the fort, but when I asked her about Thomas once during the voyage north, she only looked very sad, and said he had died, and I didn’t ask any more. But I don’t think James had any other friends. He often looked lonely to me.” I pushed my pillow into a better shape. “But what did I know? I was a child.”

“You knew enough to notice. You still do that.” Anne’s voice was dry. “You see a fuck of a lot that’s going on, whether y’ say it or not.”

I let that statement be; it was certainly true. I had discerned her relationship with Max from the way they looked at each other, and from the way Max lit up inside when Anne was there, like a hurricane lantern suddenly aflame at midnight. And Jack must have come to terms with their closeness, or he would never have chosen Max as a partner when they were making arrangements in the Colonies for support for Nassau. I knew very little about these matters except for their existence; however, I trusted that if it was necessary for me to know more, they would tell me, honestly and as completely as I needed to know.

I had never known this ability to trust others until I came to Nassau, which had been considered the home of thieves, robbers and liars by deceitful Londoners.

“Is there any word on Billy’s whereabouts?”

Anne grunted, sitting up suddenly and rubbing away a cramp in her leg. “Farm up by the old Whitehead plantation lost another goat.” Her voice was quiet. As soon as the leg was eased, she put her hands behind her head and stared up and out the window at the stars. “Militia wandered ‘round and got nowhere, got no idea where he c’d be hiding out. Billy ain’t near the Underhill plantation; the slaves settled there might still kill him for what he done during the rebellion. Not a lot o’ shelter, an’ the fort sits on th’ only caves around.”

The ‘old’ Whitehead plantation was one of the ones where the slaves had rebelled, killed their owners and created part of the army that fought the Spanish, when they came to burn and destroy. Its operation had been taken over by the former slaves themselves, those who cared to stay, farm the land and share the profits together. 

“Wherever he is, he must have a cooking fire, so he can roast the animals he catches. Maybe he’s drying the meat also, over the fire, to preserve it.”

“He c’d steal from people’s gardens, pick fruit. Lot o’ sailors don’t eat it, though.” Anne sighed. “Wish he’d mind his own business, somewhere else.”

“It’s too bad he’s mad,” I said slowly, “I would have liked to get to know him. I thought so on the ship, at least.”

“Billy was a good man, a smart man. What happened with him was a fucking shame.” She was silent for a long moment before adding, “But it was his choice. He decided to go up against Flint, and against Silver, and switch sides. Can’t think that would end well, no matter what.”

And that was all she would say about him.

***

I was reading some notes Augustus had written on his thoughts for improving the harbor, as I sat at a small table in his office. I had reached a section on the technical problems of dredging to widen the channel, and filling in one area with the dredged sand to create an island, when he spoke up, out of the blue.

“This is what I don’t understand.”

He was turning a small stone over and over in his hand. It was one of his ‘twiddles’ – small objects he kept in a bowl on the desk, or in a drawer when there were people there he didn’t know well – to toy with when he was thinking: an ocean-polished stone, a small perfect seashell, a bit of metal melted into an interesting shape, a piece of broken glass tumbled to a misty finish by the sea.

“Billy has the whole wide world to go to,” he said slowly. “If he wanted to go back on the account, he could change his name and go to Tortuga; he’s not known by sight there. He could go to Europe if he worked his passage – any merchant ship would be glad to have such an experienced hand even for one voyage. He could work the Mediterranean trade; warm weather and no hurricanes. He could sail to the Indies, go anywhere he liked.” He put the stone back in the bowl and said as if to the air, “Why is he here?”

“Are there people here he feels close to?” I asked. “Maybe one of the women at Max’s? Or someone else on the island?”

Augustus shook his head slowly. “Don’t think so. In fact, I don’t remember him going with any of the women there, or any woman.” He leaned back in his chair. “I remember him in the tavern with his mates, but not upstairs.”

“The mates he… killed, later?”

He nodded, his expression grim. “Any that he didn’t kill would love to get their hands on him – and so would I. He shot a good many friends of mine.” 

“He couldn’t go back to England because he killed a man, or so Captain Flint told me once.” I spoke slowly, considering Billy’s options. “Surely, England is large enough that he could have gone to a different city, under a different name, and done well enough. Or to Scotland, or Ireland, or for that matter, Boston. He’d be just another sailor up there.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like the cold any more. It’s easier to scrape a living off the land when you won’t freeze overnight in a hedgerow.” Augustus smiled at me. “That’s why I left. Part of it, anyways.”

“So, we have someone on the island who is hiding, who is ‘scraping a living’, as you said, from other people’s farms, when he could be somewhere else earning money and living his life. Why is he here?”

“A question for the ages. What do you think of my ideas concerning the sandbar?”

“Wouldn’t it all wash away in the next year’s hurricane? It would be a lot of work for very little improvement.”

“That doesn’t matter so much.” Augustus leaned forward, drawing me in. “We need a few civic improvement projects, so that if we need to employ people just to keep them out of trouble, the jobs will be there. The residence can only be painted so many times.”


	3. Chapter 3

“C’n you ride?” Anne asked me, out of the blue.

It had been a week without tall unknown men in the corner of my vision. Anne was twitchy that day, and I admit that I found it hard to concentrate also, since the rain had let up and the wildflowers were blooming everywhere. The air smelled spicy, enticing.

“I learned to ride on a sidesaddle,” I replied, sipping my coffee. I had gone out once or twice on a horse from the livery stable, but the saddle had not been comfortable, though the horse had been agreeable.

She shook her head. “Dunno if we have one on the island. Maybe Mrs. Bumblerump has one.” This was one of the plantations owners’ wives, who had made no secret of her disdain for any woman who was not nearly as upright and Christian as she was. And she did have a sizeable derriere under her bum roll.

Anne considered my form. “You’re shorter’n me, and a different figure. I’ll be back.” She rose, crossed the room, which lacked its usual crowd since the crew of the Andromeda had sailed for Boston at dawn, and went up the stairs. In a few minutes she came back with something folded in her arms.

“They’re Jack’s old deck trousers. They been patched, but that don’t matter. And I borrowed some boots for you. They’re up in Max’s room; you c’n change there.” 

In short order I had braided my hair and pinned it up, out of the way; put on Jack’s old loose breeches and a clean-but-patched shirt gotten from who knew where, and shoved my feet into the boots, which for a surprise very nearly fitted. Anne had hung my bodice and petticoats in Max’s armoire, and put the shoes I had worn in at the bottom. When I looked in the tall cheval glass I saw myself as if in a fairytale or dream, in another life. But this, too, was my life.

Nobody cared what I was wearing in the stable, especially since I was with Anne. I waited in the open area between the rows of stalls, hard-packed dirt strewn with bits of straw, while the head groom saddled and brought out to me a new chestnut mare who sniffed at me with interest and nuzzled my hand to accept the bit of fruit I offered her. Her name, I was told, was Cappy, and Augustus had bought her because she was said to be a gentle ride for a woman.

Sitting astride on the saddle felt … different. Not uncomfortable, only unusual. It was a slightly smaller saddle, more like the one I had sat on during my riding lessons in England. I rested back against the saddle’s cantle and relaxed my legs as Anne adjusted the stirrups for me and then mounted her own horse, which she had brought over from the tavern’s stable. She handed me a length of cloth to wind around my neck to keep off the sun, and I dropped the reins; Cappy lowered her head and chewed a wisp of hay. 

“Can’t wear a sun hat out there; it’d draw too much attention. Try this.” She handed me a men’s broad-brimmed hat, and I put it on. It was heavier than a straw sun hat, but gave me sufficient shade for the moment. It was a workman’s hat woven from palm leaves, and I pinned it to my coiled hair to keep it from moving.

Cappy was as pleased to be out of the stable as I was to be out of the town, and agreeable as to direction. I discovered that posting for a trot was much easier when one had both knees to hold on with and lift oneself up, but that sitting into a canter was easier still and the speed was glorious. We rode two abreast on the broad track, down to the beach to the south and around and then walked back up through hills and past farms. A few were still plantations holding slaves; others that had been burned under the Spanish had been reclaimed by newcomers to the island, German and Dutch and French farmers; those were the ones from whom thefts had been reported.

We let the horses take their own speed as we followed the narrower track to the top of the highest point on the island. From here Nassau was all roofs, and we could see the ocean in every direction. 

Anne named the places we were looking at, or told me what had happened there. “That’s the Wrecks; not safe, don’t go there. That over there’s the place where Silver and his men and the maroons fought the Spanish.”

I stared at the thatched roofs and bits of walls or stockades that I could see above the treetops. I could also see men moving about, carrying long sheaves of sugar cane; far too busy a place for Billy to be there.

“What’s that?” I pointed at a gap in the trees, halfway down the hill in a different direction from how we had come.

“Barlow house. Fuckin’ Spanish burned it. Miranda Barlow? Miranda Hamilton?”

I squinted into the distance. “That’s where she lived?”

A slight frown furrowed what I could see of her brow. “You believe ‘n ghosts?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve never seen one.”

“All right. We c’n go past it, but no getting’ off the horses.”

“I’m not sure I could.” The muscles in my legs were starting to get stiff. “Not and get back on again.”

“Soak in a tub when we get back; you c’n use Max’s. Helps a lot.”

The road downhill was more washed out, with many small stones; we let the horses find their own way. When we reached the clearing, the burnt ruins looked incongruous with the vines of bright tropical flowers twining up the charred beams. 

I noticed the open courtyard, the well with its bucket sitting alongside, the fence with its open gate, the overgrown and long-neglected garden by the side. Anne glanced around, uneasy, then stared at the ground.

“Tracks, where no tracks sh’d be. Let’s get out o’ here.” 

She urged her horse to a canter and I followed her at the same speed until we were a couple of miles down the road, then slowed and turned her horse toward a bit of grass behind some trees. Someone coming up the road would have had to know we were there to see us.

Her voice was low. “Billy’s been there. Must be ‘im. Bare footprints, big ‘uns. Maroons and slaves won’t go near a house where someone died, for fear of ghosts, and there’s nothin’ left there t’ steal.”

“Who died there?” I knew Miranda had not made it back from Charles Town; surely others had used her house, but I had no idea who that might have been.

“Eleanor, out in the yard.” I jerked my head back, hearing this; Cappy raised her head and stepped neatly sideways on a diagonal line; until I brought her back. 

Anne continued, “She’d been hurt badly, cut up by a sword, but pulled herself out of the house, saved Madi from the fire, too. It wrecked Flint, finding her there. They worked together for years, trying to make things better for Nassau.” She breathed hard. “Spanish soldier who attacked them burned to death inside.”

I shuddered, images of flames and gunfire overlaying the burnt desolation we had left behind us. Cappy, under me, switched her ears back and forth, but this time stood steady and nibbled on a bush. I rested my hand on her neck as much to calm myself as to calm her.

“Do you think Billy was there, just now?”

Anne shook her head. “Probably asleep somewhere in daytime, huntin’ at night. Most people are scared of what comes at ‘em in the dark.”

Without another word between us, we made our way back to the stables, and the tavern, and up the back stairs to the tub of hot water that Anne arranged to have in Max’s room. I stripped my clothes off and stepped in – oh heavenly warmth! All my muscles shivered in ecstasy and started to relax, and the pain and stiffness began to leach away.

Anne, who had turned her back politely, said, “I’ll wait over here, read a bit.” She looked over Max’s bookshelf.

“There’s room for two, if you want.”

She went still. “What’re you asking for?”

“It’s a big tub. I can share it.” It took a moment to realize that, considering where we were, she might have thought I meant something more than I did. “I’m only offering the water.”

“Ah.” She relaxed. “I’m fine, but thanks.” She picked up _Moll Flanders_ and was soon chuckling over its pages as I soaked.

And when I was done, and dry, and dressed, we went downstairs. Our luck was in: both Jack and Augustus were there, sitting at the table in the back, meeting with Max.

Anne sat down without ceremony. “Billy’s at the Barlow ruins. ‘least some o’ the time.”

“You were up there?” Jack’s eyebrows rose.

“On the way back from ridin’ around. Footprints in the dirt, made when it was wet.”

Max nodded slowly. “I have been thinking about this, and I may know why Billy would return here.” She paused to gather our attention. “He does not know what happened to Captain Flint, after you both left that island. He hates Flint; he blames Flint for much of the misfortune he encountered.”

“He might well blame him for what happened during the fight off the island,” Jack’s voice was low. “I was somewhat busy with the governor at the time, but I did notice him falling overboard.”

“And there was that other time he went overboard, when nobody was sure if Flint ‘helped’ him over.” Augustus said slowly. “That could be it. Flint spoke so loudly and so long about Nassau being his place, it’s reasonable to think he might be somewhere here.”

I considered this. “So, his watching me might be his way of discovering where Flint is, since he knows the captain was my friend.” I sighed. “But Flint is nowhere near here, is he? He’s back in the Colonies.”

“Well, something like that. Though I wouldn’t put it past Billy, if he did find out, to go there to murder Flint in his bed, wherever that is now.”

“So, we have a man who is crazed from being left on… that island, who might be coming back to kill the man who left him there, and possibly anyone else as well if he feels like it, and the man he wants dead the most is a thousand miles away.” Augustus said. “Well, that clears it all up.”

“It doesn’t, but thanks for the thought.” Jack chewed the corner of his mustache, something he rarely did. “We can’t send Billy a message saying where Flint is; that would get him out of here, but because Flint is in seclusion we can’t let him know that Billy is on his way.”

“Why can’t we? I could write it. If he’s barred from receiving news from pirates, my letter would get through.” I hadn’t seen James McGraw in years, but I wanted him to stay well and happy, wherever he was; alerting him to this possible danger could not be a bad thing.

“He probably wouldn’t get the letter. He’s in a sort of … polite prison farm, in the wilds south of the Carolinas. It’s not even a colony yet.” Jack’s voice was nearly inaudible. “His particular friend, Thomas Hamilton, was sent there by Hamilton’s father, who didn’t approve of the closeness of their friendship –“

“They was lovers, them and Miranda.” Anne’s voice bore no condemnation, only explanation – which brought my long-ago memories of them all into sharp view in my mind, and explained so much of the looks I had seen them exchange that had meant little to the child I was at the time. “So I heard.”

“The father allowed the world, including Flint, to think his son had died miserably in Bedlam. John Silver thought that Thomas might still be alive, sent a ship up to the place to verify it, and told Flint that Thomas still lived, but would be at that place for life; if he wanted to give up the account, Silver would send him there and he and Thomas could be together. And so they did. And so they are.” Max’s voice was quiet.

The pieces were falling together in my mind. “When Flint attacked a merchant ship sailing from England to the Colonies and killed Alfred Hamilton, it must have been over Thomas’s presumed death.” At their united nods, I continued, “That was the incident that turned my father against him, and against pirates…” My voice trailed off; best not to take my mind back to the loss of my friends and of Charles Town and of my deceitful, lying father. “Where does that leave us now? Send the militia back up there after him?”

Augustus shook his head. “I’ll do it, of course, but he’s likely long gone. I’ve never seen a genuinely quiet militia. Though, if he can be found, that fort’s a good place for him.” I shuddered. Augustus noticed. “Only till we can find something else to do with him.”

Anne said, slowly, “C’d he be sent back to England for that murder, whatever it was? Let them deal with ‘im?” At Jack’s raised eyebrow, she countered, “That’s no more two-faced than he is.”

“Possible. But we’d have to catch him first.”

And there it sat, the monster in the room that we could neither banish nor touch nor ignore.


	4. Chapter 4

It was Max who came up with a stopgap that we all could live with, the next day, when we had gathered in Augustus’s upstairs office for the sake of security. Max was pacing back and forth, and spoke as she walked.

“We are stuck. None of us can talk to Billy, the militia cannot find him to bring him in. We cannot go on living like his targets. Send someone out there to talk to him, someone whom he knows, someone against whom he has nothing, no reason to attack.” She looked over at Anne and waited. Anne nodded slowly.

“Oh, find me that man and I’ll pay him gold to tell Billy that Flint’s nowhere around here.” Jack stood and paced across the room and back “But where would Flint go, given the choice? It should be somewhere on the other side of the ocean from here.”

“Paris,” I said. They all stared at me, but for a moment I was back on the Walrus, hearing James and Miranda talk on the other side of the bulkhead separating our cabins. “I heard the two of them talking on the ship one night, when they were taking me to Charles Town. My cabin was next to theirs, and I heard them talk about going to Paris. Both of them spoke French very well; they were arguing in it.”

“And you would know because you speak French.” Augustus nodded in my direction.  
“So, who would Billy know that he wouldn’t shoot at? Or didn’t shoot at?”

Jack snapped his fingers. “That fellow who was in the lockup with them on the maroons’ island. What was his name? Never mind, I’ll find him. He had no history with Billy before that; he couldn’t have accrued much of Billy’s ire as a common sailor. And he fought alongside Billy in the rebellion.”

“It sounds like he’s the one. Where is he now?”

“If he’s who I think he is, he’s on the Tansy; they’re due here from Boston in a day or so, barring storms. We can manage that long, can’t we?” Jack raised his eyebrows at Anne, who nodded, and I nodded as well. “Don’t worry, Abigail. We will take care of this.”

“How can I worry, with such friends?” I said to them, though inwardly I felt anxious.

***

Sadie woke us all with her screams that night.

“At the window – “

Nobody was there by then, but footprints were found in the soft ground under the window, and even by torchlight it was possible to see where dirt had been tracked up the nearly featureless wall by someone using every crevice in it as a toe-hold.

“I’m sorry, miss –“

“You did the right thing, Sadie.” I put my arms around her and she huddled against my shoulder. This was not anything she had ever expected from working with me. “Would you like to come up and stay with Anne and me for the rest of the night?”

She nodded. 

I brought her upstairs, where she curled up on the trundle bed while Anne sat up, pistol at the ready across her lap. I am unsure if any of us actually slept, though I must have drifted off at some point because the sound of birds woke me. Sadie had already risen and gone; my clothing for the day lay across the end of the bed. 

Anne waited until I was sufficiently awake to say, “For today, c’n you stay in the buildin’? I need t’ sleep.”

“Of course. Please, take the bed. I will be fine downstairs.”

“He won’t come back today; he’s not stupid.” She laid her loaded pistol on the floor within easy reach and curled up on the mattress. Within seconds she was asleep.

I made my way down to the kitchen, ate eggs and toast and drank some of Mrs. Purdy’s good tea, and went up to the office. Augustus was very likely up at the fort, telling the commander about the last night’s alarum and its probable cause, and where Billy Bones was likely to be found.

***

In his absence, I spent in the morning putting less-recent paperwork in order.

When Augustus did not have work for me, I occupied myself with organizing the paperwork from previous governors, setting in order such things as leases, land titles, any official licenses, correspondence, memoirs and other bits and pieces of island history. Every so often someone would want to know the history of the land they were considering purchasing, and I would trace it back. If and when the town council had its own building, all of this would probably go there, but for now it was in the council chamber downstairs, on the tall bookshelves with their own attached ladder. 

My organizing the historical material also helped Augustus, who was an excellent bookkeeper – he personally dealt with all of Nassau’s monetary records – but was not as knowledgeable about ordinances and declarations of governors before he had arrived on the island. I kept a separate index of laws, ordinances and declarations for his reference, pulled out of the general notes I was keeping on the memoirs and other material. Some memoirs were more uninhibited than others, containing personal recollections of individuals as well, and these were fascinating, though even I could see the instances of bias or prejudice among them. I had skimmed through all of them at first; now I was back to a close reading of them, start to finish.

I settled myself at a small secretary along the wall and returned to the account of the island’s first governor, Nicholas Trott, which largely concerned rebuilding after the first Spanish occupation and recruiting settlers. I kept paper and quill ready, and took notes as I went. We needed to know where to find what had been done in the years before we were here. 

And it kept me busy, and took my mind off things I did not want to think about.

After I finished reviewing the second volume of Trott’s collected correspondence, I decided to take a break, and went down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. I found Sadie in the cozy corner by the fire that Mrs. Purdy maintained for herself and the maids, where they could be comfortable and do handiwork while being available for any summons. She was repairing a petticoat by firelight, mending it with tiny stitches that would be invisible when she was finished.

“Oh, miss. I hope you don’t mind me not working in your room today.”

“I don’t mind at all. That must have been a terrible scare.”

“It was. You know how the window rattles a bit when the wind picks up? I heard it rattle, and looked to see was the shutter loose, and saw him out there, looking in. It fair turned my hair white, miss!”

“You were very brave,” I told her. “Will you be able to stay in that room tonight or would you rather be upstairs?”

“I could try.” Her hands shook for a moment and she rested them on her lap. “I won’t deny I’d rather be somewhere else, though.”

“Let me see what can be done,” I told her, and went back upstairs.

No sooner had I climbed the stairs than I ran into Jack Rackham in the hallway, his shoulders wet from the rain outside. “Good morning,” I said.

He followed me into the council chamber. “Everything all right this morning?”

“Billy climbed up to my room last night; Sadie saw him and screamed, but by the time the footmen could get there he was gone,” I told him, and saw his mouth become a straight line. “Anne is sleeping upstairs right now; she was awake all night. She’s asked me not to leave the residence today.”

“Good. I mean, good that he was scared off.” He paced to the window, surveyed the street and returned. “I’ve found someone who can talk with Billy. At least he’s someone whom Billy won’t shoot on sight, which is something. He’s coming up here to meet with Augustus and me, and you’d better be in on it too. We’re going to tell to tell Billy that Flint has gone to France.”

I nodded. “It could be true.”

“It could indeed.” His gaze was critical. “You are too honest, you know; you can’t lie well at all. So you should stick to the truth in this: Flint did say he was considering going to Paris, didn’t he?”

“It was more Miranda saying it, but he did agree that when they finished what they’d started they would go to Europe. He didn’t say when.”

Jack waved that away with one silver-ringed hand. “Doesn’t matter for this. You can truthfully say he was planning to go to France, and you haven’t seen him since he left you in the Colonies. Don’t say Carolina Colony; be vague, though he likely already knows that. And I can say that I saw Flint after that fight with Woodes Rogers, but not since we all came back to Nassau afterward. At that point I went back to Philadelphia to retrieve Anne and Max, and I haven’t seen him since. It’ll work.”

“Do you know what Augustus plans to say?”

“No, but he’ll back up whatever we want. He doesn’t like you to be in danger, Lady Ashe.”

“Nor any of us, I think.”

“True. Good man, Augustus, even though he hates wearing that cravat nearly as much as he hated Woodes Rogers.”

“Rogers was the one who brought the pardons, wasn’t it?”

“The pardons weren’t the problem, not nearly as much as him going to the Spanish to take the island back from us.” He caught a glimpse of himself in a decorative mirror, and twitched his shoulders so that his coat would fit more attractively. “I don’t have any spare needles sticking out of my lapel today, do I?”

I checked. “No. You look very good.”

“Thanks. Always helps to have a second opinion; the mirror can only do so much.”

I sat at the meeting table, next to the head of it, with a quill and ink and paper; it helped to have something in my hands. Jack sat across from me, twiddling his thumbs. In a few minutes Augustus came in then with a sailor I’d seen in the tavern occasionally; the man had seemed shy around the women, more comfortable with his friends by the fire than with going upstairs. He glanced at Jack but seemed startled by my presence.

“Ben, you know Jack, I think. You may not have met Miss Ashe, my assistant. Miss Ashe, Mr. Gunn.” 

I nodded to him, and he blushed slightly and nodded back.

“Miss Ashe, I think we can dispense with the notes this time,” Augustus said, and I put down the quill.

“Yes, Governor.”

“Ben, we have some work for you to do, while you’re in port. It should take only a few hours.” Augustus rested a small bag of coins on the table. “I’ll pay you well when you’re done.”

Gunn nodded once. “What do I have to do?” 

“Do you know Billy Bones?”

Ridiculous question, I thought, pressing my lips together. Of course he knows Billy Bones. That’s why we’re all here, cowering in the council chambers.

“Aye, but he’s long gone.” He looked clear-eyed but ever so slightly wary.

“I’m afraid not,” Jack said. “He has found his way back to Nassau and is living rough up in the hills. We need you to find him and give him a message.”

“What kind of message?” Wariness had given way to caution, the whites of his eyes starting to show.

“Tell him that Flint isn’t here; he’s gone to live in Paris.”

Ben considered. “Billy hates Flint’s guts. If he’s here, that’s probably why. But how do you know he’s gone to France?” He straightened, his eyes level. “I was there when he went to the plantation up near Savannah, me and Hands.”

“Flint said so, in my hearing,” I spoke up. “He said he wanted to go to Paris after he was done here.”

“That was after the battle at Skeleton Island, and after we won in the fight against Woodes Rogers,” Jack said, conflating the times skillfully. “Billy went overboard during that fight, as you may recall, so he doesn’t know what happened afterward. And where Flint actually ended up is not Billy’s concern.”

“Ben, Billy is stalking women in this town, and I want it stopped.” Augustus sounded firm. “I’ve asked the militia to take him into custody, but he’s escaped every time they’ve tried. You’re the one person I could think to whom he might listen.” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice sounded tired. “I just want him to stop bothering anyone who’s ever had any sort of acquaintance with Captain Flint.”

At the idea of Billy stalking women, Ben Gunn was visibly taken aback. “That might require some danger money as well. Just ‘cause he let me live when he was shooting his brothers in the water, back at that island, doesn’t mean he won’t aim at me again, and he’s a crack shot.”

“I’ll add it to what you earn,” Augustus said.

I could not help thinking of Billy climbing up to my window and terrifying Sadie, and it must have shown on my face. Ben looked at me, and his expression softened a little, as if I reminded him of someone he used to know, long before he took to the account. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“Signs of him have been seen at what’s left of the Barlow house. He might be sleeping in one of the small sheds behind it, or the stable, if it’s still standing.” Jack said. “Or he might have cleared out the ruin enough to be able to cook in the fireplace. He’s been thieving goats and chickens from the farmers.”

“Billy always was good at living off the country,” Ben said. “He told me once that he used to lead parties to do it when the ship he was on couldn’t hunt and the supplies ran low.” He took a breath, glanced at the small bag of coin, and let it out. “All right, I’ll go.”

He left soon after, with a third of his fee in his pocket as earnest money.

Augustus put the rest of the money into his coat pocket. “In case you were wondering, Billy wasn’t just here last night. He was climbing the wall outside Max’s office. Idelle saw him. She called for help and the tavern guards ran up, but by the time they were there he was gone.”

“He’s getting worse,” Jack said. “I really hope this works.”

***

I took food upstairs to Anne myself; I didn’t want her disturbed by anyone she didn’t know or wasn’t comfortable with. She was still asleep, so I left the tray on the trundle mattress within easy reach and came back downstairs to talk with Martin, who was overseeing the tuning of the residence’s pianoforte. Jack had found a former tuner’s apprentice among the sailors, and sent him over.

“Martin, would you be willing to stay in my room the next few nights instead of in the hall? Sadie will be upstairs with us. I’m concerned that Billy might come back again.” And I explained what we had asked Ben Gunn to do. “It’s only for a couple of days.”

Martin looked tired, and no wonder, but he agreed to do it until Ben Gunn returned and we knew that Billy had been informed. Neither of us mentioned the possibility that Gunn’s task could end in his death at Billy’s hands. I thanked him, found Sadie, told her where we would stay, and, tiring myself from all the stairs, went back down to the council chamber and picked up a memoir to review in Augustus’s absence.

To my surprise, Jack came in a couple of minutes later.

“I’ve stayed to bear you company, if you can stand it,” Jack said, as if it didn’t matter. “Unless you’re fearfully busy, in which case I can find something else to do.”

“I’m not that busy.” I showed him the indices I was creating, and explained what went into each one. He was intrigued.

“Someone brings up some obscure bit of knowledge, and you’ll be able to find the official version immediately. That will be invaluable, when you’ve got it done. Are you sure you want me interrupting you?”

“Oh, do stay. I work on this whenever I have a moment or two; there’s no hurry.” I took out a few more of the books so Jack could flip through them as we talked; he always seemed slightly restless when he was not on shipboard, though, like me, he was a little more relaxed since Ben Gunn’s visit.

“Well, then.” Jack moved a chair away from where it had been set by the window and settled himself next to the secretary where I had been working. “Augustus mentioned in passing that you had asked him some things about life here during the… shall we say, ‘difficult’ time before he became governor, and since I have nothing in particular to do today, I thought I’d make myself available. Ask me anything you want.” He poured himself a dram from the decanter on a side table, and took a sip.

“I hardly know where to start,” I said. Jack was always willing to talk and could tell a good story, but this was the first time he’d made such an open offer. “You’ve told me what happened to Flint, and how he’s back to being James McGraw now. What happened to Eleanor? How did she end up in the yard at that little house?”

“Ah, Eleanor.” His eyes went off into the distance, and I knew that for a moment he was seeing long blonde hair and cool blue-green eyes. “She worked so hard here. She was in charge of commerce in Nassau for several years, just out of her teens; she bought wares that the pirates brought in and arranged to have them sold legitimately. That worked very well for a while, and Nassau prospered. And she prospered. You may not know that she and Max were an item, a long time back. That didn’t last long; Max made some mistakes and Eleanor dropped her like a hot potato, though she came to Max’s rescue at one point – oh, never mention this to Max, never. She does not want to be reminded.”

I nodded, and mentally filed that into the long list of things not to speak of aloud with anyone but Jack Rackham.

“Anyway, Eleanor was the trade boss, but she made an enemy out of Charles Vane. No, I take that back. She antagonized many people, me among them, but she didn’t antagonize Charles.” He stared at the ceiling, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “She and Charles had what you might call a turbulent relationship. I do believe that on his part he cared for her, as much as he was capable of, but her feelings toward him are harder to parse. She used Charles to get Edward Teach to leave Nassau, and then, after a truly difficult situation that I won’t go into, tried to relieve Charles of his captaincy. Charles left Nassau alone, and returned with forty men who looked as if they’d never seen a bathtub, let alone a razor or clean clothes, but who scaled the walls and took the fort away from Captain Hornigold and his men, totally by surprise and as if it were nothing. Hornigold was one of the captains on her trade council, and he grew dissatisfied with how she was handling things, so he handed her over to the English military, for the price of a few pardons for himself and his men.”

“That sounds horrible,” I commented. “Such a betrayal!”

“It was.” Jack nodded, his expression bemused. “Hornagold never stopped thinking like a privateer – every man for himself; it’s a wonder he lasted so long. They took her in chains to London, where she was put on trial for piracy, never mind that she never sailed on the account – trading with pirates was enough for that judge and court. And we all assumed that was the last we’d seen of her – but after several months she came back as the assistant of the new governor. And, within a year or so, she was not his advisor but his wife.”

I could not imagine the independent, strong-minded Eleanor married to anyone, let alone anyone with more authority than she had, and said so.

“Well, for one thing, she was out of options,” Jack said. “I’d imagine that she was on parole of a sort as Rogers’ advisor; if he had revoked it, she would have been hauled back to London in chains and hanged. Any affection she had for Rogers had to have been tempered by the fact that if she did not appear to care, her life was in jeopardy.”

“No wonder so many women here do not marry,” I said. “Why allow yourself to be governed by a man’s choices about your life?”

Jack’s mouth curled at the corner, his expression wry. “Anne won’t marry me, you know. She was married once, to a right bastard, and doesn’t want to take the chance of it again, not even with me.”

“Should I ask what happened to the ‘right bastard’?”

“I killed him.” His voice was casual, belying his words. “He was hurting her, and he was doing it in public for his own amusement. And she was only thirteen.”

“Good,” I said, surprising him. I could not help it. If someone had tried to hurt Anne Bonny, or Max, or the girl I had taught in Savannah, I would have done my best to prevent it, though I was certain I’d have been dead in the next few seconds. “Changing the subject: Tell me about the governor, Woodes Rogers.” I waved a hand toward the shelf that bore his autobiography. “I assume the man himself wasn’t quite what that book says.”

“He told me once that he’d left a few things out. I suspect, from my own experience of him, that he left out an entire library’s worth of things. The one good thing I know of him – the only good thing – is that he seemed to be sincerely attached to Eleanor. However, he never treated her as an equal whose opinion and knowledge he valued, and that led to her death when he brought in the Spanish.”

“But you captured him, later on, didn’t you?”

“You might say that it took all of us to do it -- myself, Flint, and every man who had survived the sinking of the Walrus as well as the rest who sailed with us to Skeleton Island. I thought of it then and I still think of it as revenge – revenge for the death of Charles Vane, and for the death – no, the murder -- of Edward Teach.”

“Anne said you knew Edward Teach,” I commented, hoping he’d elaborate.

“I sailed with him, briefly.” Jack shrugged. “I knew him a little. Nowhere near as well as Charles did, but Charles was Teach’s chosen son for a time, and knew all there was to know about the man.” He straightened in his chair. “You’ll hear a lot of things about Teach from people, mostly those who didn’t know him, but here’s what I say: Teach was clever, implacable, determined and an incredible fighter. It took four men to bring him down, not just Woodes Rogers; Rogers got the credit because of the murder, but it took more men than just Rogers to club him from the back and get him on his knees first.” He had put on his spectacles to look more closely at one of the books, and now he glanced over them at me. “You don’t want to know how he died –“

I raised my eyebrows at Jack, but he met my eyes evenly. “I’m not a green girl, Captain Rackham.”

“No, you’re not, but I didn’t like watching it, it was horrible, and it was torture and ordered on purpose by Rogers to make the rest of us watching afraid – because he intended to do the same to me next, and to Anne, and to everyone else on our ship. It was supposed to terrify us – and it failed, thanks to Teach.” He threw back the rest of his dram and stared out the window for a moment. I looked down at my notes. After a few breaths he said, “What I will say is that Teach took what happened as bravely as any man could, and with more courage than any could expect – he survived what would kill anyone else and he’d still be alive if Rogers hadn’t shot him in the head for surviving – and the fact of that showed up Woodes Rogers as the sniveling coward that he was. Everyone was in awe of Teach for surviving so long; it made Rogers look very bad indeed.” He turned to look at me again. “Heard enough?”

I nodded. “I met one of Edward Teach’s wives, on my way here. Ex-wives. I’m not exactly certain of the terminology.” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my arms; for some reason I felt suddenly chilled. “She was pointed out to me in Jamaica as someone who knew a bit about Nassau, so I acquired an introduction to her and we had tea. She said good things about the island, but I learned later that she had been here so long ago that most of what she admired no longer existed. But she said very little about Teach except that he was the most stubborn man she’d ever known.”

“Probably the most succinct and accurate epitaph for Teach that could be written: he was stubborn. But we are straying from Eleanor.” He got up, poured himself another dram and took a sip. “Anyway, the governor’s men held the fort – Vane and his men vacated the place when Rogers showed up with his flotilla of English ships – when Rogers went to persuade the Spanish to destroy Nassau. Eleanor was up there in the fort with the soldiers, and she tried to make a deal with the pirates – with Flint and Silver – to give them back the fort if they would allow her and Rogers to leave, and to take with them the cache of gems that had been converted from the Urca gold. Which I had captured, as I’ve told you in the past. As metal it took up the holds of two ships, but that was unwieldy to deal with at best. So the great mass of metal had been traded for jewels of equal value.” He took a drink as he gazed out the window, apparently seeing not the view but an immense treasure in Spanish gold.

“Did it work?”

Jack returned to the present. “The exchange of jewels for fort? Not as expected. Flint had given himself over as a hostage for the deal, and she and he and a few soldiers were out on the beach, to make the exchange – when I rowed ashore with the handful of survivors from Teach’s ship, and they discovered we weren’t the people they were expecting and didn’t have the gold. And at that precise point the Spanish started shelling the fort. Flint and Eleanor and half a dozen of Eleanor’s military escort made for the high ground inland and that is the last I saw of them.” His mouth set hard. “We picked up Max, who had come down to the beach, and left before the Spanish could cut us to pieces too. I heard about Eleanor later.”

“So, they made their way up to Miranda’s house, assuming that it would be safe there… and it wasn’t.”

“By all accounts, she died fighting a wounded Spanish soldier, and in the midst of the fight the house caught fire. She pulled Madi out – Madi was unconscious – before the fire consumed it. An incredible, difficult, determined woman. Sometimes I miss her, to my great surprise.” His expression moved between nostalgia and disbelief. “We were barely acquaintances – I didn’t like her much and I don’t know that she liked me at all and I certainly did not agree with some of her decisions -- but I trusted her to know what was going on and to interpret it with independence and courage, to make up her own mind and not be swayed by anyone else’s views. And there are times lately when I miss seeing her on the walkway, taking in everything going on with one glance, and deciding what to do about it, regardless of the rest of the world. And I don’t forget for a moment that she stood up to the strongest of pirates to save your life.” He poured a dram for me. “Here’s to Eleanor Guthrie.”

We raised our glasses and drank.

***

Anne was finishing the food I’d brought her when I went upstairs after Jack left. “Thanks. I needed the rest.” She looked me over. “You okay?”

I nodded, sitting down on the bed. “I think so. Jack’s been entertaining me with tales of the past.”

“He’s good at that. Keeps ‘im out of trouble when he’s not on shipboard,” she said. She lay back on the bed and was asleep again before I was out the door.

***

It took nearly a week of nerve-wracking days, but Ben Gunn came back to tell Augustus and Jack that he had indeed told Billy Bones that Flint was no longer on the island, and had gone to live in Paris, France. “I added the ‘France’ to what I said, in case there’s another Paris somewhere else,” he said.

“Where did you find him?” Augustus asked. He sat with his usual ease, but he showed tension in the way his hand gripped his leg, under the council table, as if he’d rather reach for a sword.

“He moves around. He’d tried to steal a goose up at the Underhill plantation and got beaten for it, barely got away. Still had the bruises on him when I found him. He’s got three camps I know of – one at the Barlow place, one at the far end of the wrecks, and one up in the hills, between plantations. He might have more. I found him in the wrecks; I left a message for him at the Barlow ruins, by the shed, and he met me on the sands.”

“Did he believe you?” Jack inquired. “Was he, um, capable of comprehending what you were saying?”

“He seemed to be. He’s got no reason to doubt me; I’ve never lied to him,” Gunn said. He took a breath. “Afterward, I suggested that if he were to straighten himself up a bit, I would introduce him to my quartermaster under the name of Will Roberts, say he was a good worker, and get him work on a ship heading to Boston tomorrow. I expect he’ll leave in Boston to get work on a ship headed to France.”

“When do you embark?”

“Evening tide tomorrow.”

Augustus handed him the bag of coin, and he pocketed it gratefully. “I’ll go spend some of this before we leave. Thank you, sir.”

Jack saw him out the door. 

The moment he was gone, I said, “If Billy’s in rough shape, with bruises, will they actually take him as crew? And won’t he be recognized?”

“It’s been five years since he went overboard,” Augustus said. “Anyone who sees him will probably think it’s happenstance, just someone who looks similar to a memory. And he should know enough to keep his mouth shut on board.”

Jack heard the last of Augustus’s words as he returned. “As long as Billy can do the work, he’s in. If he’s injured on the job, the crew won’t let him go. Ask John Silver about that, sometime.”

Augustus smiled at me. “I think you’ll be safe as of tomorrow evening, but best stay upstairs again tonight and then move back.”

“Anne will be happy to get back to her own space, I think,” I said, “but I have been very glad of her company.”

“May I tell her that? She’d be pleased to know it.” Jack smiled. “She doesn’t have a lot of women friends, and you mean a lot to her.”

***

Anne’s reading had progressed so well that I loaned her the traveling copy of Moll Flanders to take along on her next voyage. The spring weather was boisterous, so ships avoided the northern routes, but trade continued, in between storms. 

I continued to annotate the chronicles of past governors, and read whatever newspapers arrived at the residence or the tavern. I spent time at the tavern helping Lucinda write to her sister, and reading letters from home to Clarissa and Emilia and Maud. And when Anne was back from her wandering, I went riding again with her, on clear days when the wind blew fresh but not so strongly, up over the hills and across the beaches. We stayed away from the ruins of the Barlow house; there was no need to go there now that I knew its history.

And I continued to read through the newspapers that we acquired from every ship.

There was precious little information on the Colonies most of the time, though the _Times of London_ mentioned an effort to rebuild Charles Town had begun “since its most grievous destruction by lawless pirates and brigands” and some sort of memorial was being erected to the late governor, the judges, and others who had died in the attack. I felt no urge to go to see it. The paper was more taken up with the move to transport convicts to penal colonies in the Maryland and Virginia colonies. Those convicted of capital crimes were to live there the rest of their lives, but those who had committed less serious offenses would be freed after seven years. 

I did notice, in the _New-England Courant_ , a report in its column concerning events elsewhere on the continent that a “tremendous fire was seen, in the inland wilderness two days’ sail south of Savannah settlement”. The fire had been seen by a ship passing the area, and reported to the Courant on arrival in harbor by one of the sailors. He said the ship had sent a longboat down a nearby river in the hope of finding what happened, but fallen burnt trees had blocked the river, and no one had wished to go further – the trees were still smoking. Since the region was considered uninhabited by civilization, the general opinion was that the fire had been the result of a lightning strike during a storm that had passed through the region a day or so earlier.


	5. Chapter 5

It was six months later, passing summer and into autumn, months in which I felt at ease despite the number of off-duty sailors staying in port, because I had no reason not to. Billy had not been seen anywhere, by anyone. Ben Gunn said that Billy had left the ship in Boston with goodwill from its captain, and had taken a position on a ship headed for England and France, and that he’d done nothing out of the ordinary while sailing to Boston. He’d kept to himself, but that was behavior respected among sailors, and unworthy of notice.

The day began sunny, bright but not too hot yet, and I had the morning free to wander through the market and get coffee at the tavern, if the ship carrying it had come in. Three ships were in the harbor, unloading, so I went for coffee earlier than I might otherwise do; if the sailors were busy at the docks, I could have my coffee in peace and be on my way before they were paid and came up to spend their money. 

And so it was that I saw them: two lean-bodied muscular men, one slightly taller than the other. Their hair was growing out from short crops, pale gold and darker red, and they looked tired but hopeful. The taller one was looking about at everything as if he had walked into a story someone else had told him long ago; the shorter one – though he was still taller than anyone else in the room, and his shoulders strained the seams on his shirt – seemed to be taking in the changes in the place and looking for something or someone.

Our eyes met, and I stood up from the table, startled, almost upsetting my half-pint of coffee onto a wrinkled and much-traveled edition of _The Times of London_. 

“James?”

He walked toward me briskly, dark red hair curling around his ears. “Abigail Ashe?”

“Yes, the same. It’s so good to see you.”

He caught my hands in his. “I cannot tell you how good it is to see a familiar face.” He turned to the other man, who had followed him and looked on with a hopeful expression. “And this is my good friend Thomas Hamilton.”

“I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance, again.” I could not stop smiling up at him as he bowed to me with a gracefulness I hadn’t seen since London.

“Again?” Thomas’s eyebrows rose with surprise.

“I was a child at the time, visiting your home with my parents. You brought the picture book down for me from a high shelf, and it made an impression.” I blushed. “Please, sit down. I will get Max for you.”

“So Max is still here,” James mused.

“Yes, she is.” I saw Idelle over by the bar, and gestured to the men to take seats at the table where I had been sitting. “Excuse me a moment.”

“Two of them at once? Isn’t that a bit much? Especially that red-head?” Idelle gave me one of her sidelong glances. “It’s a pretty large way to get into the business.”

“Now, Idelle, you know I’m not. At least one is an old friend of Max’s, and they’ve only just arrived here. Would you tell her, please?”

Idelle nodded. “You’re sure you know them both?” She passed a critical eye over the two of them. “Do I need to alert Harrison?” She moved her shoulder in the direction of my capable guardian angel, who was talking to a couple of workmen at a nearby table.

“No need to disturb him. They’re fine,” I told her. “And just as able to protect me as Harrison is.”

I caught up with Eme on the way back and pressed some coins into her hand. I had planned to go look for a new sun hat at Cristina’s – she had found someone to make hats woven of the local palm leaves, not sturdy workmen’s hats but lighter ones that were attractive, decorated with a ribbon -- but that could wait. “The gentlemen at my table are hungry; please, bring them anything they want. I will pay the rest later.”

“Yes, certainly. But you know we aren’t supposed to take coin from you.”

“This is for them, not for me.”

“Ahh. I see.” And she went to the kitchen.

“Max will be here in a few minutes,” I told James as I sat down.

James looked as if he wanted to ask me something but hesitated in his attempt to find the words. “You’re not…”

“I serve as the assistant to the governor of Nassau,” I said. “I just like to eat here, drink coffee and catch up on the news.”

“Is the food good?” Thomas asked. “The food on shipboard was uninteresting at best, except for the day that someone caught a swordfish and the cook roasted it over the fire.”

“I think it’s good. It’s always different from what we have back at the residence. And the residence runs to tea, not coffee.”

At this point Eme brought two plates brimming with food, pigeon peas and rice with barbacoa – chunks of meat and fish that had been grilled over an open fire in the local fashion – and set them on the table. Her second trip included two pint tankards of small beer. She refilled my coffee on a third trip, and dropped in a freshly pounded piece of sugarcane, while taking away the old one. The men paused barely a moment for politeness’ sake before digging into the food.

Max swept in and moved toward us between the empty tables. “You have found friends here, I see,” she said to me.

“I think you know at least one of them,” I said. “Do you remember James McGraw?” I put the slightest emphasis on the surname, and I held my breath. The men began to stand, the polite response to a lady’s arrival, but she gestured for them to sit.

“James.” Max’s voice warmed, and her smile was genuine. “It is good to see you here and well. And who is your friend?”

“Max, this is Thomas Hamilton. Thomas, this is Max, who as far as I know runs everything in Nassau.”

Max smiled. “That is very close to true. Let us just say that I have the ear of the governor, concerning many, many things.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Max.” Thomas’s face was open and sincere, and Max’s  
smile warmed.

“You are new to town, Thomas? I know you have been here before, James, but it was a long time ago.”

“Yes, it was.” Both men were eating as if they had not seen good food for some time, but with a semblance of delicacy, and it was clear to anyone watching that they had seen better days. “This food is so good,” he added.

“I will have to tell the cook.” Max glanced at me; she knew that my calling her over meant more than an introduction. “Will you be staying in Nassau a while?”

“We’d like to settle here, if there is a small farm available somewhere,” Thomas said. “We’ve been farming together for several years, but wanted to move further south than where we were.”

That was a most diplomatic way to frame it. I would say nothing to disturb the polite fiction that they were simply gentlemen farmers looking for a better climate. One look at Max told me that she knew the truth of it, and simply did not care. They were here, they were free, they could be whatever they said they were and she would accept that and move on from there.

“I will inquire and see if I hear of a farm that would be available. Where will you be staying in the interim? Should I find rooms for you, also?”

“Oh, they’ll be staying at the residence.” I spoke up before James could reply. “We have the room, and it would be no problem.”

“Are you sure?” James asked. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. The governor might object –“

“And you could lose your position,” Thomas said, finishing his sentence.

“The governor is Augustus Featherstone,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll object to an old friend coming for a visit. He might even know of a farm that’s available.”

After they ate, I walked up the hill with them, as Augustus had walked me up years earlier, while Harrison collected their belongings from the ship. Harrison had sized them up with one look, and accepted them as capable of accompanying me safely to the residence. I had already noticed that James’s customary earring from his Flint days, a singularly beautiful golden pearl, was gone, and I assumed it had paid their passage. It was only after Augustus arrived back for dinner that we learned how they came to be there at all.

“It was an accident,” James said, taking a drink from a glass of the island’s good water that tasted so much fresher than what had been stored in barrels aboard ship. “We all took turns cooking, but the cook that day had not been well, and was clumsy as a result. The kitchen caught fire, and then the house. The sleeping quarters were next.” He shook his head. “The man who ran the place died trying to get the cook out, and we didn’t have enough water to put out any of it.” His lips twisted. “All we could do was to bury the dead.”

“So, in an unfortunate accident, our pasts were wiped clean,” Thomas said. “There are now no records of my being sent there, or of any of us who were there at all.”

“It was not a huge fire?” I was surprised. “There was a report in the _Courant_ of one in that area that was seen by passing ships.” I excused myself, found the paper and brought it back to the table; we were nearly at dessert and could be that informal.

James passed the paper to Thomas, who shook his head. “That might have been lightning from a thunderstorm. There were some amazingly tall trees in that area. But it looks to have been a month after we left.”

Thomas and James had conferred with the other prisoners, some of whom had lived there for more than a decade. The group of them harvested all the food that was available and divided it among themselves, and went their separate ways, some to the north, some to the south toward Spanish-held Florida.

“How did you get away from there?” I asked. “I don’t remember any towns nearby.”

“Well, Charles Town was not an option,” James grimaced, “and was too far away in any case. Savannah has acquired a few businesses now, and a reasonable port. We took passage there for Providence, hired ourselves out there as dock workers, and made a living of sorts.” 

“But Rhode Island was too cold in the winter for James now,” Thomas said. “And I admit that I am not as fond of snow as I was in England.”

“Not when it comes in early November and stays until mid-April,” James said. He sat back in his chair, having cleaned his plate to the degree that the cook’s assistant, who did the washing-up, would find little evidence it had even been used. “So, when winter was well past, we packed up our things and took passage for here, and hoped for a familiar face or two.”

Augustus smiled at them. “It’s good to see you happy, James, and to meet you, Thomas.” He tapped his fingers on the table, a habit that he might have picked up from Jack. “I’ll look to see if any farms are available, though there’s only one that I know of and it’s not large. And I’m not sure you want to live there.”

Thomas glanced at James, who had turned to stone, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

“Does it still look… as I last saw it?”

It had been on fire then, with a woman he had cared about dying in the front yard and a Spanish soldier’s body inside the blazing rooms.

“It’s a bit grown over with weeds now,” I said, trying to sound practical. “Most people don’t go there for fear of ghosts.”

“Is that Miranda’s house?” Thomas asked. “Her ghost isn’t there, I know. And I would be glad of it, if it were.”

“It’s a burnt ruin,” James said, his eyes focusing on something the rest of us weren’t seeing.

“We can rebuild it.” Thomas’s voice sounded soothing.

“There’s something you should know, before you get all settled in,” Augustus said, in his kindest voice, and proceeded to tell them about Billy Bones.

They listened closely, James’s mouth narrowing and Thomas’s going to a frown. 

“Can he be reasoned with?” Thomas asked.

“Not easily, from all reports. Ben Gunn probably got him to listen because he was telling Billy something he wanted to know.”

“It’s ironic,” James said. “We did consider going to Paris, when we were leaving the farm.”

“We both speak French, and it would have taken us far beyond the reach of the British government,” Thomas said. “The French wouldn’t care about James’s past or mine. But he wanted to come back and see how Nassau was, before going anywhere else.”

“As long as we are together, I don’t care as much where we are,” James said, the light in his eyes a wondrous thing to see.

***

Augustus asked Harrison if he had any objections to helping tear down the ruin at the Barlow farm, in order to build a new house, and he had no problem with it at all.

“I met Mistress Barlow once and liked her, and I liked Mistress Guthrie. Plain-spoken, take-charge ladies, the both of them. If their ghosts are there, they won’t bother me,” Harrison said. “Might want to get the preacher to say a blessing on the place, though, to make anyone else more easy.”

“Excellent idea,” Augustus said, and had me write a note to Pastor Lambrick to ask if he would be willing to go there and do whatever sort of service would be appropriate to make it possible for people to go there without fear of the supernatural. The pastor’s reply sounded reluctant; he insisted on coming personally to meet with Augustus.

“I am not comfortable with the idea of conducting an exorcism, if that is what you seek,” he said. He shifted his weight in the chair as he sat in the chair across the desk from Augustus.  
I was, as usual, at the small secretary in the adjoining room, transcribing notes from a meeting.

“Perhaps a blessing would be appropriate? Some friends of mine want to rebuild the house and live there on the farm. They want to be able to have people visit them without any fear.”

Lambrick considered for a moment, then said, “Removing a cause for superstitious fear is a worthy aim.” He shifted again in his chair, and I wondered what he was thinking, as if his body was rejecting what he was saying. “I’ll go up there tomorrow myself, and then again when the new house is build. Would that do?”

“That would be very good,” Augustus said.

They didn’t mention money in that meeting, but after Lambrick’s first visit Augustus made a personal contribution to the church’s building fund. 

And I never did find out why Pastor Lambrick, upright Puritan pastor that he was, seemed so reluctant to go to Miranda Barlow’s ruined home.

***

Harrison had been helping James and Thomas for a few days when he came back to the residence to pick up some tools. I encountered him when I went down to the kitchen to get a cup of tea for myself. He was eating, so I poured tea for him also and sat down across the servants’ long plank table.

Without preface, he said, “The foundation is still surprisingly good. It was fieldstone, unusual for around here, instead of the broken or cut stone you see elsewhere. Probably whoever lived there first collected the stones when they cleared the farmland, and then used them for the house.”

“It can be rebuilt, then?” I asked. “How about the rest of it?”

Harrison nodded. “Fireplace is in good shape. Once we got the beams down, you could see it. Floor needs replacing, though. Too much burned away.”

“So it hasn’t been used lately?” I asked. 

Harrison shrugged. “I didn’t see any grease marks on the stones.” 

“Has anything from before been salvageable?” I couldn’t ask James this, or Thomas. Everything that was in the house would have had too many associations for them.

“Found some china in the ashes, and it’s still usable. It’s been put aside. Some of the iron cook pots and so on. Pokers, andirons. Not much else.” He took a drink of tea, which was strong that day, having sat for a while. “James is arranging to get planks, and Thomas is talking with a carpenter. There were places for some tools out in a shed there, but they’ve all been stolen.”

I nodded. The place had been empty for so long, anyone who came by might have felt welcome to take what was left.

“How are they doing?” I asked. “James and Thomas. It must be hard; they both knew Mistress Barlow very well.”

Harrison gave me a look that said that he knew enough about the two men and the woman who had lived there to assume some sort of connection, and didn’t need to know more.

“It was rough when we found some of the china cups, and a dish or two. James went off by himself for a bit, but he came back reasonably soon after Thomas went to talk with him.” He pushed himself back from the table. “Those two are good for each other,” he said, and went to the tool room to find a saw and other things that I observed him carrying back up to the site when he left a few minutes later.


	6. Chapter 6

Anne was nursing a broken arm when she returned after her next trip with Jack. Characteristically, she said little about it, and tried to ignore the restraint of the sling when she moved. Neither Jack nor Max would let her get away without using the sling. I stayed out of that argument, but said, when I saw her at the tavern, “I have another play or two that we could read, and I have translated some of Caesar, if you want to read it.”

She gave me a narrow-eyed look that said that if I had been anyone else I would have been told to go fuck myself, but since I was not, she would try to be polite about it. “I don’t like staying ashore when Jack sails. He needs me at his back.”

“I know,” I replied sympathetically, “but you’re not going to swing your swords as well with a broken right arm.” I sat down at her table, which was further from the bar than I usually was; Max had started remodeling the tavern and was in the process of building more rooms in the back and adding a few more tables. “It might take your mind off things.”

“You ain’t asked what happened,” she said gruffly.

“If you want to tell me, you will.”

Anne bit her lip and looked embarrassed. “Fell, during rough seas, and landed badly. Doc said it was a clean break, would heal strong. But I don’t like it.”

“Nobody as active as you would like it,” I said. “Does it hurt?”

“At first it hurt like fuck-all. Now,” she tried to shrug the shoulder that supported the sling, “’s a bit better.”

“I can make you willow-bark tea when we get back to the residence.” I had ridden up into the hills the week before James and Thomas arrived, with Harrison as my guard, to gather willow bark and a few other plants that I had learned were good to keep around in case of illness or injury. Learning about herbs was another benefit of cataloguing the library, as it contained a copy of Nicholas Culpeper’s _Complete Herbal_. 

Anne sighed. “Thanks. That’d be good.” She frowned at her tankard. “C’n we go? This tastes off.”

I sniffed her tankard. “It certainly does.” I gestured quietly to Eme, who came over after disentangling herself from an overly enthusiastic sailor. “Does this smell right to you?”

Eme sniffed and jerked her head back. “Whew! I will get you some that is better.”

“Next time,” Anne told her. 

“We’re going up to the residence,” I said, so that Eme would understand that it wasn’t just about the beer. Eme nodded to me, picked up the tankard and sailed out toward the kitchen. As we left, raised voices told us that Anne’s was not the only bad beer in the house.

“Smelt like mold,” Anne said to me as we walked. “Awful flavor, like the cask went bad.”

“Does that happen much?” 

“Depends on what was in it last.” Her mouth twitched. “I don’ want to think of what was in that one before.”

“I don’t remember that happening there before,” I said. “Usually they run out of beer before it would happen.”

“Not as many customers.” Anne glanced at the ends of the alleys, which I was thankful to see were uninhabited by any tall man chewing on roasted goat. “Th’ Andromeda got becalmed for a week; th’ Isis ran into a storm, broke a mast, and they had to replace it. We ran across them on our way back and they said they weren’t coming for a while.”

“That’s what, more than a hundred people late to port? No wonder it went stale.” Max had told me once how the beer was made, by one of her other concerns, the amount set so that what was served was as fresh as possible. If it sat too long, it could sour in its casks. I wondered if Max also owned an interest in the barrelmaker’s shop as well, and how far the moldy beer would affect her businesses. Everything was interconnected so tightly here, far more so than in London.

When we reached the residence I offered Anne the opportunity to stay upstairs with the books while I went up to my room to get the dried willow bark, but she insisted on coming with me.

“It’d be nice to see where you’re supposed to be, ‘stead of where we were,” she commented, and I had to agree. 

When I put my hand to the knob, the door stuck. Damp wood, I thought, though the rainy season was just past, or perhaps the rug had gotten rucked up against it. I put my shoulder to it, and Anne turned so she could push with her uninjured shoulder. The reason for this was plain once we had it open – Martin had fallen back against the door, sliced open by a sword, bleeding copiously onto the rug and the nearby floor. His eyes were still open but they were unfocused.

I forgot my training in how to be a lady under any circumstances and yelled as loudly as I could. As I heard Tobermore pounding up the stairs, followed by Augustus, I grabbed the towel from the washstand and tried to stanch the blood, but he was losing too much, too fast.

Anne swept the room, opening every door and checking every possible hiding place, ending at the window. “Window’s broken,” she said, her voice tense. “Footsteps on the ground below.” The ground under the window was packed clay, slippery when wet but dry today – but it held the shape of heavily tamped footprints well.

I glanced up – and noticed drawers pulled out and their contents disarranged and showing – but I had no time to look out the window. I was pressing the towel to the long deep cut that sliced across Martin’s chest and torso, showing pale rib bones between dark red flesh, missing his abdomen by very little. A steady stream of blood was seeping into the towel. The back of my mind told me that I did not want to have to learn internal anatomical organs by seeing them falling out of my friend. “Martin, don’t go,” I pleaded. “Martin. Look at me.”

Augustus took one glance, knelt in the blood and pressed down on the towel over the wound with me. “Get Norton.” His voice was nearly a growl.

Tobermore ran – but by the time Dr. Norton arrived, Martin was beyond his help. He had managed to focus his eyes on me and tried to smile, and then went limp.

***

An hour later, I had changed my petticoat to one that was not blotched and streaked with blood. I had washed my hands a dozen times, weeping, aware that while I was clearing them of blood I was losing the last trace I had of the friendly, affable man who had been at the residence longer than I had, who had helped me when I was new and had always cheered me when I felt blue. I took the stained petticoat down to the washroom by the kitchen, where I put it to soak, and went back upstairs to Augustus’s office. 

Augustus had exchanged his good trousers for a different pair that did not match his jacket. The lace cuffs on his shirt were spotted. I would try to get him to remove them later, so they could be soaked and cleaned. If I did not catch him, Idelle would, later.

“Martin must have surprised Billy in there. He would have heard noises and checked,” Augustus said. His voice was rough, full of emotion. He’d given all of us glasses with two fingers of Scotch, an extravagant amount of expensive alcohol, considering that there was always rum – but this was for shock.

Anne was bitter. “Goddamned fucking fucker had to come back, just when we were rid of ‘im.” Willow bark tea forgotten, she slammed back the scotch as if it were water and set the glass down far too carefully on the desk. She pointed at me. “There’s only one thing left to do. You’re gonna learn to fight.”

I could only nod. I was so tired of feeling helpless, of knowing myself at the mercy of large men who could get away with doing whatever they wanted. “You’ll teach me?”

“Yep. And Jack, and Flint – whatever his name is now. ‘Cause I can’t do that much while my arm’s a mess.” She scowled. “Should’ve started on it months ago.”

I was trying not to cry, trying not to think of Martin lying on the long workbench in the basement, being washed and laid out by Mrs. Purdy and her sister, who worked as a midwife and who had done this necessary work many times before. He would have to be buried today; it was still a warm season, and there was no ice to pack around the body as would be done in the North, to keep it fresh for a day or two. They would work quickly, and dress him in a clean shirt and trousers, and six men would carry him on their shoulders to the graveyard outside the town. Pastor Lambrick had already been contacted and had sent word back that he would read the burial service at the grave.

“How can I fight someone that big? Billy’s bigger than anyone I know. How can I possibly have a chance against someone like that?”

Anne opened her hands wide, so the palms were stretched and the deep red scars could be clearly seen. “I did. Fought a guy bigger than Billy, and heavier. I fuckin’ won. Y’ do what y’ have to. I din’t have swords, just broken glass. Messed up my hands, but I lived.” She closed her hands again, and said in a low voice, “I’ll teach you.”

Augustus had sent the lad who polished boots and ran errands to get Jack, when Tobermore was needed to carry Martin downstairs. Jack came in at this point, followed by James and Thomas, all of them looking concerned and, in Jack’s and James’s cases, angry.

“You’ll teach her what?” Jack asked. 

“To fight.” Anne was on fire with anger, and when her eyes met Jack’s and James’s, I half expected the room to go aflame.

“We all will,” James said. His voice was gentle, though his face barely held a thunderstorm in check. “Anne, Jack and I.” He turned to Thomas. “And I’ll teach you.”

“Do you really think –“ Thomas began, but Jack cut him off.

“Yes. He does. So do I. So does Augustus.” 

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, looked at me and shut it again. “I’ve learned swordplay.”

“Yes, you have,” James said. “You learned gentlemanly swordplay in a salon. Now you’ll learn how to keep yourself alive, not how to score points with a smallsword or win a duel with seconds and a doctor standing by.”

“Does Martin have any family?” I asked, my voice shaking. Too much was happening, too fast. I had hoped for a quiet afternoon reading with Anne; that wasn’t going to happen. “If he does, I should write to them.”

“I will write,” Augustus said, “and put your letter in with mine. He has a sister in Plymouth, England.”

Thomas put an arm around me and I leaned into his touch and let his caring start to warm the chill that had frozen my heart since we found Martin.

“Where’s Sadie? I should have her bring you some tea or something.” Augustus always considered tea the universal restorative, despite his fondness for whiskey. He went to the bell pull and tugged on the embroidered ribbon. The bell sounded deep in the distance, but no footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

And it was only after that, after the house had been thoroughly searched, after her shopping basket was found tumbled on the ground a block away, that we realized the other horror of the day – Billy had taken her.

***

The tumbled basket was the clue to the story. After Martin’s body had been carried downstairs to be cared for, Mrs. Purdy had sent Sadie to her sister’s house to get a shroud from the trunk in the storage; in the hurry of the moment, the sister had come only with herbs for healing, when she heard the doctor called for, and stayed for the laying-out. The shrouds were kept in a heavy ironbound storage trunk that was locked; It would be easier to send someone else to bring one back than to interrupt the necessary work that needed to be done quickly in the heat.

Sadie had gone out the kitchen door with a covered market basket, discreet and large enough to hold the folds of cloth. The trip should have taken her half an hour at most. She had walked past the back shed where Harrison was beginning work on Martin’s coffin, and they had nodded to each other. And then she turned the corner of the building, basket on her arm and started down the long blocks.

Apparently Billy had not run away as we had thought, after his attack on Martin. From the pattern of his footsteps, as James interpreted them, he had climbed down the building, gone around the corner and down the street to hide within the small cluster of trees at the corner of what in London would be an intersection. When Sadie passed by the trees, six houses short of her goal, he had grabbed her.

“She never had a chance to avoid him,” James said. He was crouched down, staring at the vague shapes of footprints in the dust. “He would have put his hand over her mouth, and she dropped the basket while trying to fight him.”

The key to the trunk where the shrouds were kept had been found in the small sewn pocket inside the woven basket, not even dislodged by its being dropped to the ground and kicked out of Billy’s way.

“This must have happened so quickly.” I felt frantic for Sadie’s safety. “Can you tell which way he went?”

James stared at the ground as if he would force it to reveal its secrets by sheer will power, but shook his head. “He headed away from the harbor, but then his footsteps merge with everyone else’s. He could be at his camp in the hills, or even in the bush near our house. And nobody saw him because he has damnably good luck.”

Augustus ordered separate squads to conduct as quiet a search as they could in those places -- “remember, a woman’s life is at stake.” Jack and James exchanged glances. 

“I’ll search the wrecks,” Jack said. “I know them. Not as well as Silver would, but enough.” He grimaced. “For once, I wish that mad dog Israel Hands was here.” He left, James following him without a word.

We waited anxiously at the residence, accompanied by the somber sound of Harrison’s hammering. Anne paced, muttering words I didn’t even recognize. Thomas stayed next to me, his presence a comfort but also a reminder of Martin’s absence and Harrison’s occupation.

Not long afterward, Max came in, without ceremony. “I have heard. I sent my men to help James and Jack. They are local; they will know places others do not.” She sat on the chair next to me and held my hands in hers. “She will be found.” She looked up at Augustus. 

“Yes,” I said. It did not have to be said that I wanted her found alive and well.

The afternoon wore on. 

Pastor Lambrick came by and said something about lost lambs that he probably meant to sound sincere. It made me want to hit him with something large and heavy. 

We were all called down to the kitchen when Martin had been made ready for his last journey. He lay in the coffin, a clean shirt pulled over the hideous wound, the tails left untucked to cover the stain on his work breeches. We all quietly said our farewells to him, mine accompanied by a silent apology, and Harrison nailed on the lid as quietly as he could. I winced with each hammer blow.

Thomas and Harrison were much of a height. As the kitchen door opened to the back yard, neighbors came in quietly; word had gone out hours before of what had happened. Mr. Fisher, the hostler, and Mr. Juniper, the blacksmith, who had long ago sailed with Teach, stepped up to take places beside the coffin behind Tobermore and Thomas, who stood at Martin’s head. Mr. Phillips, the harness maker, and Mr. Corning, the tinsmith, moved in next to his feet. Together they picked up the coffin, shouldered it, and began their slow walk out of town.

Augustus and I fell in behind them, and next were Max and Anne. The pastor walked near them but attempted to ignore their existence; they had no problem ignoring his. The rest of the neighbors followed, including sailors and women from the tavern, and bootblacks, and everyone else from the residence; Martin had been well liked by everyone. 

I felt the empty space next to me where Sadie should have been. Soldiers from the fort had been detailed to guard the doors and patrol the property in our absence, and the head groom had agreed to stay and verify the identity of anyone who asked for entrance.

Someone had already dug a grave in the soft, sandy dirt. The men lowered the coffin into it with ropes, slowly, carefully, and the pastor stepped forward to say words that I paid no attention to. Martin had not been part of his flock; the service was polite but perfunctory, official words kindly meant for someone the speaker did not know. I was just as glad that it was brief; those words would not bring back Martin’s smile as he opened a door for me or his concern for us, his willingness to sit up all night to guard Sadie, his caring for us that had ultimately brought his death.

The path to the graveyard had gone through wildflowers; I had picked some as we walked along, and I dropped them on the wooden box. I did not have words. Harrison, who had brought a shovel, started to cover it with dirt and I turned away and started the long walk back to the residence with Max and Anne. I could not watch. Augustus remained, flinching just a little with every thud of dirt on wood.

When we reached the residence, James and Jack had arrived there before us – with Sadie. Jack was handing her a glass of water to sip as she told her story, her voice cracking with overuse.

She had been abandoned in the wrecks, hands and feet tied. Billy had not gagged her; he evidently thought there was no point, as the wrecks were considered so dangerous that nobody would be near enough to hear her screams.

In that, as in so much else, Billy was wrong.

Mrs. Purdy, who came in behind us, took one look at Sadie and went to get her precious healing salve that soothed all wounds. She knelt and carefully put the salve on Sadie’s ankles and wrists, which had been rubbed raw by the ropes, and on the bruise that was coming up on one side of her face.

“He was raving, miss,” Sadie said, between sobs of relief at being home and alive. “He kept talking but none of it made sense. Charles Town and tracts and books and you, Miss Abigail, and religious stuff that made even less sense than that. Something about the government having no authority over true men, and how churches were all wrong, and God was not found in them. He said his name was Long John Silver, not Billy, and he was going to free Nassau from someone named Flint.”

James, who had been standing nearby, was startled. “Oh, good God. That again.”

“But he kept coming back to a book of yours, Miss Abigail. He said he had to have it. He said he’d give me Urca gold for it if I’d give it to him. I said no, any book of yours was yours, and if he wanted it he had to ask you politely.”

“Oh, Sadie,” I said, putting my arms around her. “He’s completely unhinged.”

“He must be thinking of the journal you wrote on shipboard, going up to Charles Town,” James said. “That’s long gone, and he should remember that, he was there. Charles Vane told me that Billy suggested he bring it along as evidence for my trial.”

I drew a breath. “Actually, I have a journal still, but I don’t keep it in my room. It is in the library here, tucked away on a shelf with the other books. It’s not a personal journal, not like on the ship, but a listing of events as they happen, with a few comments. I guess I was inspired by the past governors’ books to make my own account.”

“Is there anything in it that he would want to know?” Augustus asked.

“Only that James and Thomas had taken over Miranda’s farm and were going to rebuild. And I didn’t use their full names.” I turned toward Thomas. “I didn’t want to get you in trouble again.”

“Oh, Abigail, my dear.” Thomas was near tears, as was James. “There was no need for such care.”

“Stay here tonight, please,” I begged them. “He’ll come for you up at the farm.” They glanced at each other, then nodded. I turned to Mrs. Purdy, who gave me a sharp nod in return. She had already announced that she would be sleeping with her butcher knife next to her pillow. Having two more large, capable men staying in the house of grief could only be a good thing.

“You’re out of here, both of you,” Anne said to me and Sadie. “Tonight, you’re stayin’ with me and Max. He won’t look for you at the inn.”

“Because respectable women don’t stay there,” Jack and I said, almost together.

Sadie tried to smile, but her effort ended in a gulp. “Mum would’ve tanned me but good for going to the tavern, but then she never was kidnapped.”

***

Max generously gave us her room, with its oversized bed, while she moved to one down the hallway. Anne insisted on sleeping on the couch in Max’s room, with a cutlass within easy reach.

Sadie cried herself to sleep. I had run out of tears hours ago. Anne muttered what must have been her longest string of curses, quietly enough that I couldn’t distinguish the words, which was just as well.

The night was uneventful. I woke long after dawn. I had slept in my shift; I resumed my petticoat, stays, bodice and skirt, and left Sadie to sleep. 

When I went downstairs, I used the public front stairs, where I could see all around me and could easily call for help. Max’s guards were already there. I thanked them for going to search for Sadie.

“’Twas Mr. McGraw heard her first, but Mr. Rackham led us through the tangle,” one of them said. “A fearsome place it is. I’d not go there on my own, not for a king’s ransom.”

I had brought some coin with me. When I went to see Eme, she hugged me, her own face tear-streaked, and asked about Sadie. 

“She’s upstairs, still sleeping, with Anne on guard. I’d like to take them breakfast. And I’d like to pay for a round of drinks for the guards, when they’re next off duty, to thank them for helping to find her.” I handed Eme two crowns.

“That will pay for two rounds, easily.” Eme thought a moment. “If you want a round for them to drink to Martin’s memory, I could put the rest aside.” She was near tears herself but controlled it with visible effort; she was still on duty. “Martin always bought a drink or food for any sailor he saw who was low on cash. I could put it toward that.”

“Oh, please do that. Thank you.” We each tried not to cry and failed, and she broke away to get a tray of food for me, wiping the tears from her face.

I glanced around the tavern. Since the newer farmers had been raising more chickens, Max had been featuring eggs for breakfast; customers paid by the egg, which worked well for the tavern and encouraged the farmers. I could smell fried eggs, and when I looked around the corner I saw Harrison there, nearly asleep in his seat, a half-eaten breakfast before him.

I sat down at his table and he jolted awake.

“Harrison, are you all right?” I already knew why he looked like Death; he’d been dealing with Death’s works all the previous day.

Eme had followed me. “He’s been there all night; he came soon after you did.”

“Oh, Harrison, you didn’t need to do that.”

Harrison frowned. “Yes, I did. Miss Bonny’s a power with swords, but she’s only got the one arm right now. I was on the account; I know how to fight better than poor Martin ever did.” He scrubbed his hand over his face as if to wake more completely, but it also hid his sudden tears. “I stepped into the shop as Sadie went past me; if I’d stayed outside I might could’ve stopped what happened.”

“You cannot blame yourself,” Eme said, in a low voice. “You did everything you could. Sometimes men are wicked, and we must resist them any way we can, but when we have done our best, that is it.”

“Please, go back to the residence and get some sleep,” I said, but he looked a little more awake now.

“When you go, I’ll go,” he said, and could not be budged from it. When Sadie was awake and we had had breakfast, he walked us back. Anne stayed behind to sleep a little longer; she would take the night watch again.

Mrs. Purdy met me on the stairs and stopped me from going up to my room.

“It’ll be made decent for you before you are back in it again. Use the spare room on the end of the hall for now, please.” Her voice held the slightest tremor; she was holding back tears by willpower alone. “After the floor’s been sanded and the bl … “ She choked on the words; Martin had been dear to her. “There’s a rug in the attic. I’ll have it brought down for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Purdy,” I said, not far from tears myself, and went to lie down in the room reserved for the wives of diplomats and the finest visitors. The bed was far softer than where I had spent the previous night, but it took much longer to fall asleep.

I learned the next day that Augustus had sent three parties of soldiers out to search for Billy Bones and none had found him. 

The former slaves at the Underhill plantation and the small farmers who had lost livestock had gladly helped, but no trace of Billy could be found in the uplands. If he had stopped at Miranda’s farm, which now legally belonged to James and Thomas, it had been so briefly that he left only footprints and took no tools. And a double-sized squadron of soldiers beat their way through the wrecks, clearing out vagrants and fighting a pack of wild dogs that were, apparently, dining on someone who had died, who was certainly too small to be Billy. 

For all intents and purposes Billy had disappeared, again, from plain sight.


	7. Chapter 7

I had a hard time sleeping, and rose very late. It took more effort than usual to dress; I could not do anything without tears. It was as if all of the weeping that I had not done for the past losses in my life had caught up with me, and surged through me at once. I could not stop crying; I let it go through me and then, when I felt as if I could be with other people and maintain some level of control, I threw some water on my face and patted my eyes dry. I was a wreck; however, I would survive, somehow. Martin had wanted me to survive.

When I came downstairs, Augustus had tied a black armband tied around his sleeve in mourning. He handed me one and I tied it on with his help. I took some comfort from the fact that his eyes were nearly as red as mine.

“There’s no getting around it, Abigail; you’re going to have to learn to fight,” he said. “I could show you a few things, but James is a better teacher.”

“I’ll learn from anyone who will teach me, considering that the closest I ever came to a fight was to separate two spitting cats back at school.”

“How did you do it?”

“I put a broom between them. They couldn’t see each other, and ran off in different directions.”

“I suspect that wouldn’t be too useful with pirates in general.” He led me to the open area at the far end of the council chamber, where he had set the shutters at an upward slant so that nobody could see in, but air could still circulate. It was bright enough outside that I had no trouble seeing. “Now, what I can show you, that the others can’t, is how to get away from someone who is trying to grab you. These are techniques for people like us, not like Flint, er, James.”

“And that is because?”

“We’re smaller than he is, we don’t have the same kind of strength or the same reach. So we have different tactics.”

For the next hour I practiced breaking holds, learning when and where to grab thumbs and push fingers, where the less-obvious vulnerable points were, like knees and ears, and how to use them to get away. Augustus generously allowed me to use him as the attacker. He would reach toward me and I would dodge, evade, avoid, and duck. If he managed to grasp me, I started to bend a finger or mimed a kick, and he reacted as if I had done the action with full strength.

“Now, this approach works with someone of my size. You may have to try a few other things with a taller man.” Augustus rose from where I had put him on the floor by kicking behind his knee as I shoved him. It worked when I stood near his side but was much more difficult when I was in front.

“Try what other things with a taller man?” James stood in the doorway, Thomas behind his shoulder.

“Getting away,” I said, using the duck and twist method that Augustus had shown me to evade his grasp. “Augustus is teaching me a few things.”

“I see.” James studied me, and as I looked back at him I saw not only James, Thomas’s dear friend, but the long-gone Lt. James McGraw, Royal Navy, as well Captain Flint. “You need to learn to fight with weapons.”

“I figured you’d teach her that,” Augustus said. “You’re better at it.”

James nodded, still thinking. “I’ll teach you a few things with both quarterstaff and sword; I realize the swords we use may be heavier than you can work with, but you need to know how to block a thrust or a slash with whatever is handy.” His mouth went straight for a moment, and I knew he was thinking of Eleanor, who had fought for her life with whatever was available to her when she was attacked. “A broomstick, or a window opener –“ He gestured toward the tall wood staff with the metal hook on one end, for opening and closing the upper windows “can be a lifesaver.” He stepped away from the doorway. “I want you to find ten things in here that you can use against an attacker, things that aren’t conventional weapons.”

Ten things. I walked slowly, looking hard at everything. “Fireplace poker,” I said, “hot tea in the metal teapot, books, chairs, small table, lantern, candlestick, small knife…”

“Two more,” James said.

“Here’s one,” Augustus said, and handed me a metal pen, like the quill but with the point and barrel made of metal. “It’s steel. Go for the eye, or the nose or the neck. It’s yours, by the way. I thought you could use something sturdier than a goose quill; besides, Mrs. Purdy said the geese are starting to look too naked.” He tried to smile and I realized it was a joke; we received goose-quill pens from another of Max’s concerns.

“One more.” Thomas sounded encouraging.

I looked up; there were some china figurines on one of the bookcase’s shelves. “These?”

“Good! Yes, those.” James said. “Now, tell me how you would use them.”

“I have no idea,” I said honestly.

“No piece of fired clay is worth your life, Abigail. Break one and use the sharp edge against your attacker.” He reached up and moved them down to a shelf that I could reach easily.

I came up with uses for the other things on the list – hit or block with the poker, throw the hot tea and teapot in the attacker’s face, throw books or use them to fend off blows, get the chairs or table between myself and the attacker, throw the lantern, hit or block with the tall candlestick, strike the body anywhere with the knife and jab with the pen.

“Good girl,” James said. 

Sadie was at the door, with a tea service. She came in and set it on the long table. “I’ll get more cups, excuse me.” When she came back her eyes met mine, and I knew that whatever I learned that I could teach, I would be sharing with her. I nodded and she put down the cups and left.

“Tomorrow we’ll start with the sword practice and the quarterstaff,” James said. “We can ride down onto the east beach, away from people. It’s private, and the sand is much softer when you fall than the wooden floor is.”

“Oh, good,” Augustus said.

***

I was not surprised to have Anne join us the next day. She brought with her a light sword, one of the ones she habitually carried, and handed it to me. At least, she said it was light, and it was shorter and narrower than the ones I saw on James and Augustus.

It wasn’t light at all. I wasn’t used to the balance of it, to the weight of the grip and the length of the metal or the sound of the blade in the air when it moved, or to the distance from the grip to the point and how to calculate where that would encounter someone else’s flesh. When I was done attempting to learn what James was attempting to teach me, I sank down onto the sand and mopped my brow.

“And you fight with two of them?” I asked Anne. “How?”

She tilted her head under the broad-brimmed dark hat. “Been doin’ it for years. They don’t feel heavy to me any more. But I’ll have t’ work up t’ it again with this arm.”

“I feel like I’m terrible at it.”

“Yeah, you are. Everyone is at first.”

“All right,” James said to Thomas, “your turn.” He threw a scabbard toward Thomas, who caught it in mid-air and pulled out the sword. “Attack me. Try to get past my blade.”

Thomas moved differently than James, more formally, more gracefully, perhaps. He did some things with the sword that seemed to me more like dancing than fighting. No matter what he did, he could not get past James’ ability to block his movements.

“Change sides,” Thomas said after a while. “You attack. I block.”

Within two minutes James had his sword at Thomas’s throat. Thomas held still, a light coming into his eyes, and the sword dropped. “Show me how you did that,” Thomas said.

As they worked out the movements I thought about what they were all trying to do, and felt depressed and upset. I leaned forward, using my sun hat to hide my face.

“What is it?” Anne asked, her voice low.

“I feel like a rabbit that everyone is trying to make into a wolf. It doesn’t work for me.”

“I’ve never thought you were a rabbit,” Anne said. “Maybe not a wolf, but you’re no rabbit.”

“What am I, then? A hedgehog? Much help that would be against Billy.”

We continued to watch the men clashing steel against each other. James fought fiercely, while Thomas continued to look more like a dancer than a fighter, no matter how quickly he moved.

“Maybe one of those Scots wildcats,” Anne offered, after a long time silent. “Fierce fighters, defending their turf, their dens. Peaceable as long as they’re not attacked. When they are, watch out.” She assessed me soberly. “When you know what you’re defending, nobody will be able to stop you.”

“Like Eleanor?” I would have liked to be able to share some ability with the woman I considered my liberator.

“Yeah. Eleanor fought for her turf, harder than anyone ever gave her credit for.” Anne seemed to have come to a decision. “You don’t need to fight like him; you’re not his size. You need to fight like me, with whatever is on hand.”

And then she told me how her hands were cut, by chunks of broken glass that she had wielded in place of her treasured swords, to save the lives of Jack and the rest of the captive crew against a brute with an iron hammer who had killed half a dozen men already.

“He was a fuck of a lot bigger than me. Taller, heavier. Twice the size of James, there. Beast with a big metal hammer. I let him knock me down because he knocked me toward that glass. And once I had it, I knew I could win. I got ‘im in the leg, and the arm and the chest and the face and anything I could reach. I got the keys to the chains away from him and threw ‘em to Jack. And then we all won.”

I had heard from Max the toll that fight had taken on Anne’s battered body, and how Anne’s deeply cut hands were the not the worst of her injuries, only the most easily tended. Her beautiful face had slight irregularities, places where it was not entirely symmetrical, that I now realized had dated from that fight. I shuddered. I did not want to think about it.

Thomas and James had switched sides again, and this time Thomas was at least imitating anger, because he had discarded his careful movements for ones that were rougher and stronger, and James was fighting him off with a grin that showed all his teeth.

“What you can do is what I did – find things around you, wherever you are, that will help you defend against anyone. And then learn how to use them.” She tossed a handful of sand at knee level toward the men. “Hey! Get over yourselves!”

The sand dropped on their feet. Startled, James half-turned and Thomas took him down, moving past him on the side enough that kicking him behind the knee made him lose his balance, and knocking his sword aside. When James landed on his back, Thomas’s sword was at his chest.

Thomas put the sword aside and pulled James to his feet. 

“Enough about the supposed delicacy of my swordplay,” Thomas said. James nodded. They smiled at each other and turned back to Anne and me as if they were one connected being.

Meanwhile, I was thinking about unlikely weapons, and wondering whether Billy was watching us from behind one of the sand dunes.

In the end, James did manage to show me some maneuvers for avoiding a blade, ways to dodge and counter it, while Anne and Thomas sat in the shade under the crest of a dune, watching and commenting.

I pushed my hair up off my face, which I was certain was red with exertion and sun. “These layers of petticoat are no help at all, even without the skirt.” I had left the skirt behind; it was for more formal matters than what we were doing, hiding most of the petticoat except the decorative part in the front. I tried to avoid wearing it because of the heat, except when I needed to look proper and official. Max, I knew, always wore a skirt over her two petticoats as a symbol of status: the owner, not the employee. I owned only myself.

“You need a belt,” Anne said. “I’ll show you how to tuck them up into trousers.”

“Anything, so I don’t trip over my hems.” 

When we were back at the residence, an hour later, Anne found a plain leather belt somewhere and handed it to me. I fastened it around my waist at her direction, a little more loosely than I would if I commonly wore such a thing. She leaned down and with her good arm reached through between my ankles, grasped the back hem of my petticoat and pulled it to the front, tucking it under the waistband and into the belt. The cloth bunched between my legs, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You do the same with the rest of it. Back and up, pull it around, so it wraps, tuck the hems into the belt.”

In short order my everyday petticoat had been transformed into a form of trousers. My ankles were exposed, but I hardly noticed in the difference of the feeling of the material that I was experiencing. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to wear, but it would do well for temporary use, and it kept the hems out from under my feet. I did a few dance steps, testing how I moved. “How did you think of this?”

“I din’t always have breeches, early on. Jack and me, we was poorer than church mice, an’ we wasn’t on the account yet. It was easier to dress like a woman, some places.”

“It’s a good idea. And I had a thought while we were watching James and Thomas,” I said. I untucked the petticoat, put the belt down on my bed, and led Anne to the council chamber.

In the corner of the room, an umbrella leaned up against the wall, between the bookcases. It had been there since the elderly Mr. Thornfield had brought it for a council meeting shortly after I arrived; he had risen during the meeting to protest a new law from England, news of which had arrived on the latest ship, and while protesting had been stricken with an apoplexy, clutched his chest, collapsed and died. In the confusion afterward, nobody had recalled the umbrella, and since his heir had never cared for it, it had remained in the residence. Later councilmen had evidently left it as a reminder to themselves to avoid making excessively irate speeches.

I picked it up; it was braced with slices of whalebone that were stronger than those in my stays, and the oiled silk covering the ribs needed attention, but it was not yet cracking from lack of use or maintenance. I opened it, carefully, to make sure it still worked.

“Huh.” Anne looked it over. “ ‘S not proof against a blade, but it’d startle anyone.”

“If I managed to pop it, the whole circle of whalebone would be between me and him, and the far edge would be in his face.”

“This is good,” she said. “I don’t know that Billy’s seen many of those for a while, ‘less he did get to France; might throw ‘im off a bit.”

I tested the sliding mechanism that opened it and pushed a bit, and it started to pop over to the other side, going inside out. So, it would work. It would take a little effort, but it would work.

***

“I didn’t show you the quarterstaff defenses yet,” James said over supper.

“Do we even have a quarterstaff here?” I asked. 

“A broom makes a good start. It’s all in how you stand, and how you use the ends of it against your opponent.” He held a table knife by the place where the blade met the handle and turned it in different directions. “A little bit of effort at the center means a great deal of result at the ends. The main thing is to maintain control of it, and keep the ends away from your opponent’s hands, so he can’t take it away and use it against you.”

When we tried this, in the back of the stable after dinner, I caught on to the theory much more easily than I had the theory of swordsmanship. James gave me some exercises I could practice with a broom handle, to train my muscles to respond without having to think so much, and found an ancient broom in the stable. He snapped off the remains of the corn bristles, trimmed the edges back with his knife, and presented it to me with a bow.

Thomas had excused himself and gone to the library, where we found him when we returned, turning the pages of a small leather-bound volume.

“ _School of the Noble and Worthy Science of Defense_ ,” he read aloud. He went further back in the book and read, _“Because old weapons lyeth rusty in a corner, and every man is desirous of the newest fashion of weapons, especially if they seeme to be more danger to the enemy than the old, therefore it is my intent & purpose at this time to express and set downe both the true and false play principally of the rapier and dagger, and staffe, for I hold that the skill of these two weapons are chiefly and necessary of every man to be learned, for to have the use of a rapier to ride with, and staffe to walke a foote withall, for those which have the skill of these two weapons may safely encounter against any man having any other weapon whatsoever as hereafter you shall be sufficiently satisfied."_

“And this would be useful if you had a decade or so to spend learning to fight,” James commented.

“Or if you hadn’t had to discard well over half of the ideas here while fighting for your life for a decade,” Thomas said. He turned some pages and read, _“’Also they say that a man with a sword will cut off thy rapier at one blow, but I say this is a most cowardly kind of ignorance, for if a skillful man doe hold the rapier, it is not a hundred blows with a sword can doe a rapier any harme, no although they light upon him.’"_

“If he were on the account, he’d either be the luckiest bastard in the world, or he wouldn’t live long.” James scoffed gently. “And I doubt that she’ll be carrying around a sword wherever she goes, even a rapier.”

“It would be too obvious,” I said. “And it would alter my visible station in life from that of one who is peaceable to one who might be seeking a fight, since most women here do not normally wear swords. That could bring its own trouble in this town.”

Thomas studied me, and I raised an eyebrow. “I’m trying to remember something that Miranda did to a pickpocket once. He reached toward her pocket, she moved out of his way and shoved him in the back and he went flying.” He tried to play it out with gestures but it didn’t seem to work. “If you like, I’ll try to recall the rest of it and teach it to you.”

“Yes, please. I’d like that.”

***

Thomas’s smile was the same as when he had brought down the book of pictures from the tallest shelf of the bookcase, kind, friendly and clear, as if he always saw the best possibility in each situation. Despite the lines on his face, weathered into him by difficulty and circumstance, he seemed to have hardly changed from the man I had seen as a child, though even then he had been complex in ways I had had no ability to comprehend. 

If Thomas always saw the best, James always seemed to see the worst thing that could happen, and to be preparing himself to meet it head on, as if there were no other way to go through life than straight ahead. 

This made me think about the approaches of some of the others around me in Nassau.

Max stood on the sidelines, emotionally; she seemed to have lost that part of her being, except where Anne and possibly Jack were concerned. She analyzed and strategized and evaluated and looked into the distance further than others, and then pushed and bargained and maneuvered them into the right places to bring about what she had foreseen. She never jumped into anything without thinking. I had heard from Jack about how the two of them had brought Eleanor’s grandmother into Woodes Rogers’ overthrow, though what had impressed me the most was Max’s ability to listen to Marion Guthrie’s plans to arrange for her to marry some man whose primary attribute appeared to be his stupidity, and Max’s ability to deflect and reject these plans without either rejecting Marion Guthrie or losing the deal that she and Jack were making.

Anne only seemed to stay on the sidelines; she followed her heart wherever it took her, which was usually where Jack was. I had never seen a closer marriage than between the two of them, regardless of what the polite world might say of their arrangements. That, I realized, was why she had stayed with me, to be my bodyguard – not because she was the best suited, but because she cared, and knowing that warmed my heart. 

Augustus wore his heart on his sleeve, at times, with Idelle and with his friends. But he also was a navigator of others’ emotions as much as he had been a navigator of the paths of the sea. He could find a way to negotiate a path through troubled human shoals as he would on a ship, marking the landscape, looking for the ways that would disturb others the least while going where he wanted to go. That was what made him such a good governor, I thought. 

And Jack’s heart rested with Anne, always, regardless of whatever was going on between Anne and Max – though he did seem to shape his views of everything else in the world to suit whatever would bring him the biggest haul. Yet he did feel something for the rest of us; I suspected that he considered me something of a younger sister or cousin, which overall was not a bad thing to be.

***

Billy’s disappearance continued, as far as the fort was concerned – they could not find hide nor hair of him, as Augustus would say. I wondered if he had acquired a small ketch or boat and was staying on the uninhabited Hog Island, not far offshore from the bay. He would have to sail in the dark to be able to go there without being seen, as the island was in easy view of the fort, but that might not be too difficult for him in most weather. However, considering that the soldiers had covered nearly every inch of the island and certainly every foot of the beach several days in a row, it was hard to imagine where he could hide such a boat to keep them from finding it, even in the tangle of the wrecks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Source for quote from the _Schoole of the Noble and Worthy Science of Defence -1617_ , by Joseph Swetnam:
> 
> http://www.thearma.org/Manuals/swetnam.htm#.WpljgJPwaRs


	8. Chapter 8

Jack and I stood on the wooden walkway above the road, from which one could see the town square, the businesses crowded off to the sides, the houses, and the winding path down to the beach, as well as the ships coming into harbor. He sniffed the air and nodded, satisfaction on his face.

“Winter storms are well past,” he said. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” I could think of several things, such as summer dresses and perhaps a pair of those light-weight sandals for summer that were being worn in the south of France now, according to the _Times of London_ ’s Paris correspondent’s occasional notes. I resolved to sketch up what I thought would be a comfortable design and take it to the cobbler.

“Time for Silver to come back to Nassau for supplies. Ah, there he is – and Madi, too.” He nodded toward two figures coming up from the beach path. A man with sunstreaked dark hair, half-tied back, and a darker beard, hopped along, using a crutch to keep his balance and aid him as he made reasonable time with it and his good leg. Next to him, a dark-skinned woman with impressively braided hair kept pace; she was dressed in clothing that seemed to echo what I saw Max wear, but which fitted more closely to her shape -- without stays -- and with an elegant, colorful jacket that never came from the likes of Cristina.

“You must have met them before,” Jack commented to me as we walked toward the stairs and down to the street. “You’ve been here a few years.”

“I met Madi very briefly, last time she was here, and I have heard much of her; I’ve never officially met Captain Silver, though I saw him from a distance once or twice.”

“Ah. Then you will, now.”

We all reached the foot of the stairs together, though I was one tread up. “Good to see you, Silver.” 

“And you.” A civil tone, rather than polite, but sufficient. Silver looked past him to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Jack introduced us, and Madi nodded. “You and I have something in common, I believe,” she said, her voice warm. “We both have been prisoners in that fort.”

“Yes,” I said, surprised and pleased at her seeing the common ground we shared. “And we have both survived when men have tried to use us for their own advantage.” I nodded back to her, in acknowledgement of our shared experience, and smiled, and her expression lightened.

“I see we’re not really wanted here,” Jack said, only half serious. “Silver, let me buy you a drink.” And they meandered into the tavern. 

“I am bidden by my mother and my men not to enter the tavern,” Madi said, with some regret. “Is there another place where we can talk?”

“Would you like to come up to the residence? I can offer you tea and whatever treat or savory the cook has made for the governor today.”

She raised an eyebrow toward me and glanced at my hand. “You are not married to the governor? No, I cannot see that you would be in Calico Jack’s company if you were.”

“No, no. I am not married. I work as assistant to the governor, Augustus Featherstone.” I considered what I knew of her travels. “You might have met him? He and Captain Rackham used to sail together.” I threw a glance at Harrison, who was occupying a chair near the stairs, watching the square, and he stood, ready to follow. “This is Harrison, who will accompany us for our safety.”

Madi nodded to Harrison, who gave her a slight bow. “My men will come with us, as well.” She turned to the three men who accompanied her as quietly as shadows, and they conferred. Two stayed with Harrison, and the third melted into the crowd, presumably on some errand.

“I had not heard that Nassau had become so unsafe,” Madi said quietly, as we walked uphill, “for people like you.”

I didn’t try to misunderstand her. “Most of Nassau is as it was, I think, but there is a recurring problem,” I replied, and said nothing more until we were sitting in the library at the small table with the good teapot, two steaming cups of tea, and slices of Mrs. Purdy’s fine spicecake. 

“And so, your unsafeness is caused by?”

“An insane former pirate named Billy Bones, who wants to kill Captain Flint. He thinks that because I was a passenger on Flint’s ship, when he was taking me back to the Colonies, and because Flint and I used to talk, that I would know where Flint is now.”

She nearly smiled. “Many have tried to kill Flint. Only one succeeded.”

“Yes, he more or less killed himself, or his identity. But Billy doesn’t know that.” I filled her in on the chronology of Billy’s knowledge. “A group of us arranged for him to learn that Flint had gone to France, after everything had been done here.”

Madi sipped the tea and thought about this. “It would be reasonable, a good place for him to avoid the English.”

“Yes, and it is known that Billy went there to find Flint. I have no idea how much French he speaks or understands, or how difficult it might be to find someone if one does not have the language.”

“The man who was Flint is well now, though?”

I smiled. “He and his dear friend Thomas Hamilton are rebuilding a farmhouse and intend to live here on the island.”

“Then it is of the greatest importance that Billy never find them.” Madi put down her cup decisively. “Billy cares nothing for what happens to anyone who gets in his way. When he first came to my island as part of Flint’s crew, he wanted to fight his way out, without regard for those he would harm. Flint and John stopped him, then. And then there was his attack on the plantations that resulted in so much suffering; Flint tried to stop him and he would not listen. Those occurred when he was still counted as sane.” She drew a breath and let it out slowly, as if to calm herself. “Billy held a knife to my throat, in the compartment where I was kept captive by Woodes Rogers before the last fight. I doubt that his sense has improved since then.”

“How did you survive Billy’s knife?” I asked.

“I told him that making me a martyr would not stop the fight. It made him pause. Then there was a commotion up on deck, and he got up and went without a word. I knew nothing more of what was going on until John came and rescued me, and took me up onto the deck, and I saw Woodes Rogers on his knees before Jack Rackham and Flint. Only then could I realize that I was truly free and safe.” Her face was still for a moment, remembering.

“There is a problem with disposing of Billy in this way,” I said after a moment. I could actually think of many problems, but I could only deal with one at a time. I refilled both of our cups from the good teapot. “Nassau is now a law-abiding place, and the laws do not allow murder. At least, not murder here.” I sighed. “The soldiers in the fort have scoured the island for him, without success. I have been wondering if he has a small boat and comes and goes from the smaller island out there.” I gestured toward the window, from which the island could be seen in the distance. 

By this time I had reached a point where I only wanted safety and peace, while knowing that neither would come to me unless Billy were dead. I was tired of my life being hemmed in and shoved about by self-centered men who wanted to use me as a tool for their own purposes. It had gone on ever since I left England; it had gone on far too long. I had been fiercely glad when Charles Vane had told me Ned Low had been killed; I could see myself being even more relieved when I no longer had to fear an insane and murderous Billy.

“It is possible,” Madi said, after a glance out the window. “My people have taken small boats further than that, easily. If he is doing this, that might solve one of our problems – it would be possible to get rid of him, and not have it occur in Nassau.” Madi finished her tea, her face thoughtful. “I will speak to John about it, and to Israel Hands.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met him.” Or heard of him, except in tones of fear and respect overheard in the tavern when some sailors who had been here during the uprising spoke of it.

“You probably have not. He saved John’s life after the shipwreck, for his own benefit, not John’s; Israel thought to sell him to the governor until John changed his mind.” A wry expression crossed her face. “He is John’s bodyguard, and he is the deadliest weapon that John has.”

“Then if John were to ask him to go after Billy Bones –“

“There would be no more Billy Bones.” Madi pressed her fingertips to her temples, then put her hands in her lap again. “You are constrained, I realize. You have an obligation to the governor, and you do not have the connections. But since I know Flint well, as you do, Billy is a danger to me, perhaps even more than he may be to you. I may have to talk with John about it.” She sighed. “I asked to have Billy Bones removed from power before, and it was done, but it did not last. Now there is no more time to wait for him to come to his senses – he has lost them completely.” She straightened in her chair, sitting erect like a queen. “Israel knows Billy; he wanted to deal with him before and was prevented. Now, there is no reason to prevent him.”

I held very still. Part of my mind could not believe that we were talking quietly over tea about arranging the murder of a man, even though he potentially threatened both of us as well as Max and Anne and any other woman who had ever known Flint. But the other part of my mind acknowledged this as a sort of self defense, and did not feel that it was very distant from Anne’s continued lessons to teach me to defend myself with anything within reach. If Madi, and thus Israel Hands, would be able to defend me, I would not turn down either of them.

And in the silence that fell as we finished our tea, I felt as if I had gone much further from my former school’s chapel and its droning Anglican services than mere miles of ocean could tell.

***

Anne’s response to the idea was thoughtful and concise.

“Fuck. Who bells the cat?”

She had a point. We all seemed to have built up Billy in our minds as a greater monster than Blackbeard could have been. “Madi suggested someone,” I said. “Israel … Hands?”

Anne drew a sharp breath. “Fuckin’ tough guy. He c’d do it, if he was of a mind to and c’d catch him.”

“He’s that dangerous?”

“If we’d ‘ad ‘im on Blackbeard’s ship, Blackbeard would be alive and fuckin’ Rogers’d be in pieces on the deck.” Anne was looking out the library window, but she was seeing something I could not, and from her expression, I was glad of my inability. “If we’d ‘ad ‘im, I wouldn’t ‘ave these scars on my ‘ands.”

It felt wrong to be scheming Billy’s death, without including Jack and Augustus in the conversation, but I felt leery of letting them in. Jack was, for all intents and purposes, a legitimate businessman while in Nassau, and I did not want to endanger his status. And Augustus was the official governor; considering the rapacity of his predecessors in that position, he wanted to keep clear of entanglement with profiteers and obvious lawbreakers. I could see him quietly approving of a plan to remove a danger, but not able to acquiesce to it in public. Nor did I want to put him into that situation.

I said nothing more of it to Anne. We continued reading together, and moved on to my self-defense lesson as if nothing else had been discussed.

***

“There’s a man to see you downstairs, Miss Abigail.” Tobermore looked at me with concern in his face, uncomfortable. “Would you like me to have Harrison stand by?”

I put aside my Spanish reading with an effort – I had been entangled in verb tenses – but not without gratitude for a break from it. I noticed that Tobermore had not said gentleman. “What sort of man is he?”

“Very tough, dressed as a pirate. Scars on his face.”

I took in a breath. “If it is who I think it may be, then calling Harrison in might mean Harrison’s death. But I do not think he will harm me; I am no threat to him. If you do call Harrison, have him stay in the next room.”

“Then I will stay in the room with you, Miss. For propriety, if nothing more.”

“No, thank you. I think not.” We were on our way down the stairs and I did not want our voices to carry down to the man waiting in the hall.

Anne had described Israel Hands to me – face scarred, long reddish hair, older than most pirates, tough and muscular, a man who used a blade and an Indian hatchet to fight – and so I was somewhat prepared for the man I saw near the foot of the stairs. He was gazing at a portrait of the first governor of Nassau with an expression that seemed calculating, as if he were attempting to estimate how long it would take to carve him up. He turned toward me as I reached the floor.

“You’re Abigail Ashe?” He harrumphed, looking me up and down dispassionately. “You must be tougher than you look.”

“Yes, I must be, mustn’t I? And you are Mr. Hands?” I did not curtsy to him, but bowed my head briefly, acknowledging his presence, and ushered him into the council chambers. I left the door ajar, so that Tobermore could watch from the other side of the hall, where he might not hear every word. This was not an uncommon practice at the residence with some of the less genteel visitors. “May I offer you something to drink? Some tea?”

“No, don’t care for tea.” Israel seemed to remember then that he was speaking to a woman who was not a whore, and seemed nonplussed. “I come to find out what Billy Bones has been up to, where you’re concerned. Madi wants me to find him.”

I sat in one of the councilmen’s chairs and after a moment he sat in another. It was a strategic move on my part; I thought that putting even the corner of a table between us might make me slightly safer, though that was probably foolishness, considering the length of his arms.

“He has been stalking me,” I told him, and described the shadowy man I had seen at the ends of alleys, watching me. “He tried to break in here – he climbed the wall to the window of my room. He tried to break into Max’s quarters at the inn. Then he returned and broke into my room again, and killed one of the governor’s footmen, who found him ransacking my belongings.”

“Looking for what?” He put his chin down and scowled at me from under his eyebrows.

“We think that he was looking for a book, a journal that he thought I kept, in case it would tell him where Captain Flint was. But I had no such journal, and Flint is not on Nassau.”

“Billy wants to kill Flint? Not surprising. Going after you and Max? That’s the surprise.”

“Flint was my friend, on a journey from here to Carolina.” I steadied myself and stared him in the eye. “Madi said you might be able to take care of him.”

“Aye, I can. I’ve checked the places where he was on Nassau already – I knows the wrecks without a map, and his place in the hills warn’t hard to find. He ain’t here.” He tilted his head and studied me. “Some’un who looks like Flint but ain’t is at the old Barlow house, and not alone.”

“Yes, a couple of farmers from the Colonies,” I said with an absolutely straight face.

He harrumphed again and nodded. “I hear a body’s been found down in the Wrecks. I want you to know: it warn’t one of my killing.”

I nodded solemnly. “I believe you.” Drawing a calming breath, which I surely needed, I asked him, “What other help can I give you?”

“Maps? Charts? Just because I’ve lived here doesn’t mean I know where everything is. Things could’ve changed.” He scowled. “If Billy Bones is back here, no sense in me checking shipping routes or crew rosters.”

“I can find those if you do need them, another time. As for the maps–“ I rose and went to the tall bureau with narrow drawers, pulled a couple of them open and took out maps of Hog island and of Nassau and spread them on the table. “These are the most complete and recent that I have available.”

He stood and peered at them, tracing patterns on them with a stocky finger. “What else can you tell me?”

“Augustus Featherstone hired Ben Gunn to go and talk to Billy, since he was the only man Billy wouldn’t kill outright, and to tell him that Flint had gone to France. Gunn said he got Billy a job on a ship heading out that would connect with another going to Paris, and he took it. But that was a few months ago and I suppose it didn’t work, since Billy’s back.”

“And who’s Augustus Featherstone to be doing that?” Hands’ scruffy eyebrows moved toward each other.

“He’s the governor here now.”

“Hmph.” Israel Hands glanced around the well-fitted room, taking in the bookshelves, the heavy English furniture, the silver plate on the credenza. “You could do worse.” He came back to the topic at hand with a little effort. “Give me a little time, I can find him. When I find him, I’ll deal with him. You want me to bring back proof? An ear?”

I suppressed a shudder. “Not an ear, I think. Does he have a weapon he always uses? That would be good enough proof.”

“Aye, his sword.” Hands stood up from the maps.

As I filed them away again, I said, “It would be best -- for us all -- if you could find him somewhere other than Nassau, or that you could get away yourself and simply send us word if that can’t be helped.” I turned toward him and gave him a small but most respectful curtsy. “Regardless, I am grateful for your efforts,” I told him, and received in return something approximating a smile; it was difficult to tell, but he looked slightly more amiable. 

He rose, and with a nod toward me but no other acknowledgement left the room and the residence.

“That’s a very dangerous man,” Tobermore said, after closing the door behind Hands, “and I have known a number of dangerous men.”

I inclined my head in agreement, but said nothing more. Tobermore gave me a look containing respect and something I could not parse.

“You’re becoming a bit dangerous yourself, Miss Abigail. Mind you, I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.”


	9. Chapter 9

Augustus called me into his office a day later, after he returned from a meeting with the governor of Bermuda, in Bermuda. He shut the door and turned to face me.

“What’s this I hear about you asking Israel Hands to ‘take care of’ Billy?”

I gulped. Augustus’s expression was neutral; although he was usually an easy man to read, he could be difficult at times and this was one of them. I felt uncertain but decided to take the least deceptive approach, which also had the benefit of being the most factual.

“I didn’t ask him. Madi asked him.”

“He came here, to talk with you.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “He wanted to know what Billy had done, and where he had been living on the island.”

“But you didn’t ask him to take any action.”

“No. I asked him if he felt he was capable of dealing with Billy. He said he was. Asking about ability is not the same thing as asking him to do anything.” I had been looking Augustus in the eye, still trying to discern his mood.

“No, it’s not,” he said slowly.

I was becoming exasperated. “I didn’t invite him here. He just showed up. Without an invitation, I might add, like any other resident or visitor in Nassau.”

Augustus sighed, and seemed to settle back into his everyday amiable self. “Peace, Abigail. I’m just wishing I’d thought of Hands first.”

“You couldn’t. Hire him, I mean, or ask him to do anything. You’re the governor. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“I know.” He shook his head. “And the militia up there might as well be a set of London fashion-plates, for all the good they’re doing in this. I suppose I could send to England to get another commander appointed, but we’d still be stuck with the rank and file, who couldn’t find a barrel of rum in a transport ship, most of the time. But god forbid that I actually say that in public.” An unhappy frown settled on his face. “For your own safety I should send you up to stay in the fort, but I think you’re better off here.”

“I’m not the public, and I don’t want to go back to the fort. The accommodations are horrible.” I went to the bell pull, and rang it. “I think we both need tea.”

“And something in it.”

Over the tea, with a generous amount of something in it, he said, “I wish you hadn’t met with him here at the residence. There’s talk.”

I lifted an eyebrow in a way that I thought resembled what Max would do. “Who’s talking?”

Augustus shrugged. “One or two of the council members. I told them that he came to inquire about the historical records, which is something anyone can do.”

“If they want me to start denying legitimate access to public records, I can think of a few I’d start hiding from them.”

“Yes. And they know that you have little choice in providing the public service for which you are hired. But the sugar prices are down a few pence and they want to take out their frustrations.” He moved one shoulder in a mild shrug. “I could wish you’d seen him somewhere else than here.”

“Where else? He treated me politely here because he realized that I wasn’t a whore,” I said. “He believed me. Do you think it would have been the same if I had been down at my table in Max’s tavern?”

“No, no, you’re right, it wouldn’t. And he’d probably have tried to take you upstairs. Although,” said Augustus, considering, his eyes focused away from me on a portrait of the second governor that could not possibly have flattered the man at all, “Hands lived so long on his own that I’m not certain he wants to tangle with anyone except by crossing blades.”

“Madi did not seem afraid of him.”

“Madi will be the queen of that island, when her mother dies, and she is married to the only man Hands truly supports. He’d do anything she or Silver asked. If Hands wanted me dead, I’d be dead. If he wanted you dropped in the Sargasso Sea, you’d better be able to swim very well.”

I shivered. “That is a frighteningly powerful amount of responsibility, to be able to say that and have it done.”

“I’ve not met Madi’s mother – Flint and his crew did – but ‘frighteningly powerful’ sounds like a good description of her.” Augustus put down his cup, rattling in its bone china saucer. “Can I hope he won’t take action in Nassau, where I’d have to deal with the results?”

He meant dealing with the councilmen, merchants who had never been on the account and despised those who were, as well as with the official military presence that was supposed to protect people from things like murder. I wasn’t fond of either group of them, most of the time. Nearly all of them had sniffed at the idea that an educated woman could be a proper assistant to the governor; this would only give them more ammunition for future sniping at me. “He asked what records we have about the ships’ routes and schedules. I told him we did not keep them here, but Max would know where they are.” I added, “I did ask him not to deal with Billy here in town.”

“Then we’ll have to hope he can do that. But finding Billy isn’t going to be easy, and the maps might not be that much help.” Augustus scowled. 

“How close to sane is it possible for Billy to be, when he’s caught up in these ideas about people? Is he still someone who can be reasoned with at all? Madi thinks he crossed over to true lunacy when he was threatening her.” I related what Madi had said of her encounter with Billy and a sharp knife in the darkness of the hold.

“Whatever his mind, it couldn’t have been improved by having to live on a haunted island with the bodies of people he had killed rotting around him.” Augustus came to himself and began to apologize. 

I stopped him. “No apology needed, please. It’s not as if I don’t know what pirates can be.”

“Yes,” Augustus said in a sober tone, “but Billy Bones isn’t really a pirate any more. Pirates move on from what they’ve done. They give the dead to the sea, they add up and divide their take from the cargoes they’ve captured, they keep the captain on or choose a new one, but they don’t stay put. Billy’s had to stay put for a long time on an island alone, and that island’s even more haunted now than it was when the Walrus arrived in the channel. He can’t move on, and the horror of what he has become is possessing him, all of it. I’ve seen him fight against Flint; it’s an even match despite Flint being older and military-trained.”

“You’re very reassuring, Augustus.”

He threw up his hands. “Oh, hell, let’s go down to the tavern. I’ll have rum, and you can have some stew, and I’ll tell you about the meeting with the governor of Bermuda – there, that would count as work. You can bring your notebook and we’ll say that’s official.”

“I’ll get my sun hat – and the notebook.”

***

Anne was pacing at the foot of the stairs when we walked into the tavern. “Fuckin’ Hands is up there with Max.”

“I suspect he’s asking about Billy,” Augustus said. “I’ll go see if I can lend a hand, in a strictly unofficial capacity, to a sailor searching for a colleague.” And he headed up the stairs.

Anne gazed after him, then turned a sardonic raised eyebrow toward me.

“He found out,” I said. “One of the councilmen saw Hands leaving the residence and asked why a rough seaman was meeting with me. I’m thankful he didn’t know who that seaman was.”

“Fuck yeah,” Anne said. “’s he in with us?” She jerked her head toward the stairs and Augustus, who had knocked on Max’s door and had been invited in.

“He’s sorry he didn’t think of it himself.”

“Augustus’s a decent fighter, given reason, though he’d just as soon leave that to others.” She leaned against the newel post at the bottom of the staircase. “You go on back to your table. I’ll be there in a bit.”

***

The days slipped past like sand blown in the breeze from offshore, inching its way along the beach until all at once there was a dune where none had been. I knew that I was feeling the weight of the decisions of men who had little or no consideration for me, for whom I was only a tool for their needs, a playing piece on a vast game board whose borders I could not envision, a nonentity whose life was always subject to their desires rather than my own.

And I had come to hate the feeling of being contained by Billy Bones’s stalking, by being constantly in the company of Anne or Harrison or Augustus or Jack, dear friends that they were. I wanted my freedom back. I wanted to be able to come and go as I wished, to ride out to visit the farm where Miranda had lived and see the house that James and Thomas were building – it didn’t matter that I had weekly reports from them on its progress. I wanted to go down to the beach, take off my shoes and feel my toes in the sand, to walk into the edge of the water and feel it cool on my feet, which always felt too hot in the confining shoes. I wanted time to myself again, and I was beginning to worry that I would never have it back.

It had been only a few days since Martin had died, but we all were starting to try to work around the hole in our lives where he had been. It was a shock, therefore, when a kilted Scotsman came to the residence and was hired as a footman, filling Martin’s place so soon and so differently.

From what Jack told me, Donal Burns’s arrival was nothing short of heaven-sent. Jack had been in the tavern, reading the latest batch of newspapers from Boston and New York, when the sort of drunken half-brawl that could start nearly any time began over on the other side of the room – and ended almost before it began. One moment there were men starting to lay hands on one another and throw punches, and the next, the punchers were flat out on the tavern’s board floor, not sure how they arrived in that position, and a strange man in a kilt was standing nearby, dusting his hands off and asking for a whisky as cool as you please.

“I talked with him a bit, found out he was looking for work, and introduced him to Augustus. The rest is history.” Jack leaned back in his chair, looking well pleased with himself.

“But who is he? Where’s he from?” I asked. It always seemed odd to me, how much men would assume about one another based on their behavior in a brawl.

“He’s Scots. Worked as a mercenary for a while, decided he wanted a warmer climate than the Alps.” Jack drank his small-beer. “Seems to be a good sort. Why don’t you ask him?”

I shrugged one shoulder at Jack and went back to my lunch. He had gotten into the habit of giving me orders phrased as suggestions ever since Billy had made me his target, as if all I needed was one more man telling me what to do or how to live my life. It had taken time to get Tobermore used to my ways of doing things; I didn’t look forward to having to get the apparently famous Donal Burns out of my business.

Jack gave me the eye, the one he turned regularly on Max when he didn’t like what she was not saying to him, or the way in which she was not saying it, and even more when she did say it. “You should be glad there’s someone with training to stand between you and that idiot out there.”

“That’s not it,” I said.

“Then what is it?” He tried to read my expression, but I was learning from Max how not to let my face be glass.

My experience of Scotsmen in the past had been sufficient for me to form the opinion that they, more even than Englishmen, enjoyed telling women how to do what the women already knew how to do, and otherwise insert themselves in business that was not theirs, on the premise that because they were male they would, of course, know more about it than those for whom it was part of their daily lives. This attitude was prevalent among the Scots Presbyterians I had met, and certainly among the Puritans I had seen in London. Pastor Lambrick’s views seemed as stringent, from what I had seen, and gave me no real incentive to attend his church, since he plainly considered men far more worthy of divine attention than women.

The more I considered it, the more I thought I should probably stick with pirates.

“I could say that I haven’t found Scotsmen terribly amenable in the past,” I said. It was close enough to truth to count. I sipped my coffee.

“Hmph.” Jack turned back to his newspaper. “Whatever you say.”

I felt rather than heard the small noise to my left, and turned my head to see a kilt, and boots below it, and above both of them a man with a snub nose, hair and eyes the same shade of brown, studying me. I raised my eyebrows at him, copying Jack’s favorite maneuver.

“Then, mistress, I’ll take care to be more amenable than the puir lads you left behind,” he said, and made a small bow with his hand on his chest. “Donal Burns, at your service, with a message that the governor has need of ye as soon as ye finish your meal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burns. I’ll be along presently.” I finished my coffee, rose, entirely ignoring Jack’s half-smothered chuckle, and headed out of the tavern, with Donal Burns half a step behind me.

I slowed down once we were through the crowd in the plaza, where it was often reasonable to walk in single file, and he caught up with me. He was walking with a relaxed stride, matching his steps to mine, but his eyes were looking everywhere all the time. 

“Can you tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Burns?”

“Just Burns, mistress, if you please. I was a military man, a soldier on the Continent. So I have traveled a bit, here and there, and I decided to find somewhere to live where I wouldn’t be likely to freeze to death in midwinter.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” I said. “You might get blown off the island in a hurricane, or half-drowned in a downpour, but you won’t freeze.”

“Then I’ve come to the right place. And Captain Rackham was so kind as to recommend me to the governor as a guard, so here I am.”

“A guard?”

He half-shrugged. “Man at the door, footman, watchdog, guard. It all comes down to protecting the people inside.”

“Did anyone tell you about Billy Bones?” I had to ask him.

“Oh yes, mistress. I have heard plenty about him. I could say as I look forward to meeting him.”

“That’s not very smart of you, Burns. He’s taller than you are, and has a longer reach, and years of fighting experience.”

“I also have the years of fighting experience, mistress, and I know how to deal with taller men with a longer reach: you go for their arms. They don’t expect it, and it can disable them enough to make the end quicker.” He glanced over at me, seeming to take in my height and arm length. “But I hear also that you’ve been getting some fighting lessons from people who know what they’re doing. That’s a comfort to me, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Oh? Why would that be?”

“If trouble comes, you’re less likely to be between me and the man I’m trying to kill to keep you safe.”

We were at the door now; Tobermore let us in, his expression as neutral as usual. Burns walked with me to the door of Augustus’s private office, bowed slightly to me, and went back down the stairs, leaving me with many thoughts and few answers.

***

Anne and Jack were away, so I catalogued, read, indexed and took notes for the council meetings, with the exception of the sessions in which the men of the council deemed the discussion unsuitable for the ears of a gentlewoman. When that happened, I left for the library; I could generally pick up the gist of the discussion from the yelling that was loud enough to be heard well outside the room. Augustus would always fill me in on what I missed afterward, and I would annotate it into the minutes, unless he told me that the monologues were entirely slanders about one or another of the council who were not there at the moment, in which case I would listen avidly and the annotation would say something like “Mr. Curdy made a few comments.”

Thomas came by every few days, usually with the excuse of picking up some supplies that had just arrived, or to read some of the historical documents I was indexing, in order to learn more about the island’s history in the words of its prior governors. We all knew it was a pretext for him to check on me and report back to James, who had decided for the time being to stay out at the house so that he would not endanger anyone else by his presence. 

I didn’t mind a bit. Without Anne and Jack, life was more solitary; Augustus was busy with the council, which had decided to take him up on his plan to have the harbor dredged, which would make it possible for larger ships to come into port and unload their cargoes more easily. The reasoning made sense; the method to do it – dragging chains along behind longboats – did not, but since I was not party to any part of the endeavor, I watched from a distance and said nothing.

Harrison and I went down to the tavern a few times – messages had come in for some of the women, and I went down to read, or in at least one case decipher, them for their recipients and help compose replies. This took place in an antechamber to Max’s office upstairs, which kept me out of the tavern and away from public view. Harrison would wait downstairs, idly tossing dice with whoever was around, and having a tankard of small beer. Since he had taken on the task of keeping an ear open for news of Billy, he spent more time there than he had in the past. Max, who knew all of this, had asked Mrs. Mapleton, who managed the women, to assign one of them to accompany Harrison, so he would not stand out in the room of encounters and assignations. Tillie was happy to sit with Harrison, flirt with him, and occasionally take him upstairs for a while to tell him what the other women had learned, while handing the downstairs listening task off to Veronica, who had begun to work with Eme at delivering food and drink and cleaning tables. 

Meanwhile, Burns was learning his job from Tobermore, who reported that the new man seemed to be a fairly quick study, learning the pattern of the streets rapidly and able to take a message wherever needed with dispatch. Burns had been sent up to the plantations, out to the ships, over to the haberdasher to check on the progress of Augustus’s new outfit, and nearly everywhere else that the residence needed to contact. Some of this was because the neighbor boy who, often as not, liked to be available to run errands and earn a farthing or two seemed to dislike Burns on sight and had gone absent since Burns’s arrival.

I was still of two minds about the man. On the one hand, he was unfailingly polite to me, and seemed discreet and trustworthy. He had begun to earn respect from Tobermore, for his willingness to do whatever he was asked to do. On the other… he was not a pirate. My track record with men who were not pirates was spotty at best. Far too many of the men I had known who seemed to have legitimate business holdings had far worse morals than the pirates, even including Ned Low. I had not forgotten what happened to Miranda and James at Charles Town, the horrors brought about by ‘respectable’ people, even though I had been shipped out to get me away from the so-called trial.

I wished that Anne and Jack would return. I wanted Anne’s opinion of Burns. Jack had endorsed the man, but something still seemed off to me about it, and I could not determine why this was so. I didn’t think Jack had perfect knowledge, but he had a better sense of how men acted with one another in rough situations than I did. Still…

When the next ship returned from London, I gave myself two days to read through all the copies of the newspapers it brought, unsure of what I was seeking. I kept turning over page after fragile page, looking for any news of Scotland, without really knowing why.

I kept reviewing the facts I knew. The Jacobin Rebellion had taken place while I was sailing from London, kidnapped, and imprisoned in the fort. By the time I was on my way to Charles Town, it was all but over. The trials and imprisonment of Scots who had actively supported the rebellion were over before I made my way to Nassau, and I had been in Nassau for a few years now. The Indemnity Act, which pardoned the rest of the Scots involved, was some years old. But the back of my mind insisted, against all reason, that I should not trust Donal Burns, the lone Scotsman at the residence. It could not be because of his abilities as a fighter; I was surrounded by the finest of fighters, men whom I trusted. Was it because he was a Scot? I didn’t think I had that sort of prejudice against them as a country – though the more I thought of it, his statement that he had been a mercenary in Europe had ignored entirely the military actions occurring in his own country, Scotland, during that time, ones featuring his countrymen. Why would a Scotsman not return to his own country when it was at war? 

More than that, I had to wonder why any Scotsman would accept a position in the house of the governor of an English colony, which would put him squarely in the view of any English official who visited. Of course, I reminded myself, Nassau was a long way from England, and did not receive official English visits as frequently as other colonies or territories might expect. However, the layer of society that traveled between colonies was bone-thin; there were so few people on the ships that I had become able to identify most of the hundreds of habitual ones by sight, over time. The military layer could not be much different; people would be known.

One of two possibilities came to mind. The first was that he actually was what he said he was, a former soldier-for-hire to whoever would pay him best in Europe. The other was that he felt safe in coming to Nassau because he was not only a former mercenary, but someone who had fought on the English side, against the Jacobites. And, having fought for the English, had perhaps been co-opted by them to go to Nassau, to be their spy-in-place and keep an eye on Governor Featherstone, the suspected-but-never-really-proven-by-England-to-be-an ex-pirate.

The thought of being under that sort of surveillance made me feel queasy, not that I had anything to hide. Compared to the lives of those around me, my own life was transparent. True, I no longer lived the sort of aristocratic life that I had been raised to think of as my own, but I also had friends now, which made a huge amount of difference. And any official observation could go far beyond the male-oriented tendency to keep an eye on women to keep them in what is considered by men to be their proper place and station.

But how could I raise any of this with Augustus, considering that Donal Burns had been in the employ of the residence for weeks? He was trusted. My suspicions would have to be buried until I could be sure.


	10. Chapter 10

Anne was still away, and Harrison was not available, so I had Donal Burns as an escort several times when I went into the hills to look for flowers and herbs that Culpeper said would be useful for healing. Most of the time now Burns was amiable enough, securing my bags and baskets on the saddle so they would not fall off on the way back to the residence. It may have looked odd that I had an umbrella tied to the pommel, but I would open it over my head as I rode, and it made no less sense than wearing a broad-brimmed hat – at least, it was taken for ordinary and never worthy of comment.

But the third time we went, he seemed a bit edgy and off-temper, as if he were attempting to use civility to cover a deep wish to be elsewhere. He was glancing around us as we rode, with his right hand on his sword.

“Have you had word of some danger that I have not heard of?” I demanded, after the third time he seemed to be spooked.

“No, Mistress, just doing what I’m paid for.” He turned the horse away from the trail we had used, and toward the fallen stone at the back of the fort. “We’ll take this route homeward, if you please.”

I frowned. The road there was half-full of tumbled boulders and cut rock, from when the fort had been bombarded by Flint’s ship, back when I was in the stone cell there and could feel the vibrations rumbling down through the cracking stones. The dirt around the stones had eroded into gaps and holes during hurricanes. It was not a place with good footing for either horse or human. “I think not,” I said, and turned my horse’s head toward the path that led to Miranda’s farm, as I still thought of it.

“You’ll do as I say, mistress.” He reached for my reins, and I kicked the horse into a gallop, giving her her head and leaning forward out of his reach. I was riding Cappy, who had been used to carry supplies to James and Thomas during the time when my visiting was unsafe, and she knew her way through the brush on every path and short cut.

But Burns’s horse was taller and faster, and he cut me off before I could take the narrow road through the close-growing ironwood trees. “I think you’ll come with me, now,” he said, taking the reins from my hands. He dismounted, my horse’s reins in his hand, and I shifted my weight in the saddle and kicked her hard. She half-reared, kicking at him, and he let go of the reins rather than be kicked in the teeth. With a jerk of her head she was free and we pelted down the trail, reins flapping beside us, my head down and my hair flying loose, trying to tangle in every tree. I didn’t care if I ended up bald; I wanted to be down at the farm, safe behind the house’s firm new stone walls, with James and Thomas to keep me alive. I gripped Cappy’s mane with one hand and the umbrella with the other.

We clattered into the barnyard and I threw myself off the horse and ran for the house – but Burns rode his horse up onto the porch and blocked my path. Everywhere I tried to turn, he was there first. And neither James nor Thomas were within the sound of my voice.

Burns didn’t waste any more time on civility. Regardless of how hard I fought, he held me down while he tied my wrists behind me with rope, bound my ankles with more of it, and gagged me with a bit of cloth. He slung me over Cappy’s saddle; poor Cappy had done her very best but, like me, had not bargained with a traitor in our midst. He seized the reins again, and led the way back uphill, over the crest, and down to the back side of the fort, the piles of tumbled rocks. I felt the unused umbrella bouncing against my thigh, where I could not reach it. It might have been possible for me to slide off, but with my ankles bound I could not run.

All I could do was to turn my head and let my hair tangle on branches. I gritted my teeth when strands were pulled free – they had to help someone find me. I shook my head when he wasn’t looking to scatter a hairpin or two on the trail. 

He stopped next to an enormous boulder and whistled, the sound of some birdcall that I had never heard in Nassau. I could see very little, only that next to the boulder it was shadowed, darker than I expected, and a small footpath led into the shadow.

“Here she is, sir,” Donal Burns said, not loudly. A moment later large hands hauled me off my horse and I went into the darkness draped over a tall shoulder. The man put me down on the hard ground, pushing the tied gag down around my neck and I gulped air for a moment, breathing hard. I could smell wood smoke, men’s sweat, the faint scent of cooked meat.

I had kept my eyes closed while being moved off the horse, to keep from losing what I’d eaten and having to taste and re-swallow that behind the gag. Now I opened them and saw the rough-hacked hair, the oval head, the tall frame of my nightmares.

Fear overtook reason, and I fainted.

As I started to come to, lying slumped on the floor, I let myself seem to still be under, and listened.

“I’ve done as you asked; that’s all I’ll do,” Burns said. “I’d like the rest of my money. I have a ship to catch tonight."

The Christabel was headed north to Boston, and it might well be leaving tonight. Once gone, there would be no way to catch it or him.

“Here’s your pay,” said a man’s voice, Billy’s voice.

It sounded as if someone were catching a bag of pebbles, a small sound of hard things clicking together. Burns must have tipped some of the contents into his hand, for he said, “Pearls?”

“Rackham dropped them in deep water off the Wrecks; I brought them up again. Take them and get out.”

Burns whistled. “Had I known she was so valuable, I would’ve brought her sooner. Farewell, my pretty,” he said, daring to pat me on his way past. I ignored him.

The sound of Burns’s footsteps faded, turned to hoofbeats, and vanished.

“You’re going to have to wake up some time,” he said conversationally. I glanced through my eyelashes; he was gazing out the entrance to the cave, not looking at me. “My sisters used to do that, too, pretend they were asleep. All I have to do is listen to your breathing to know that you’re awake.”

I had knocked my head against the ground when I fainted; the dizziness I felt was not acting. I used my bound wrists to push me up to a sitting position, with my back against the wall, and let my eyes move around. What unexpected weapons lay waiting for me in the shadows?

It was not the sort of irregularly shaped rocky cavern I had expected to see. Instead of unhewn rock that had been buffeted by centuries of hurricanes, I saw fitted stones near and behind me, and carved rock across from me. I knew of only one area of the island with those fitted stones – the fort. I had gone out one of those tunnels myself with Eleanor when she rescued me. I had heard there was another that was still used. This must be a third.

There was a cold campfire, in a circle of stones, with a cooking tripod near it and one pot, neither new nor clean. A few lengths of firewood were stacked against the other wall, too far for me to reach. To my left, the tunnel went from dark gray to blackness, as it curved away from the light. The floor was dirt, with small broken stones here and there. I rubbed my hands against the wall and one fell into my palm; I curled my hand around it.

The bombardment when I had been a prisoner here must have crushed the wall further in so that this one had been abandoned. No wonder Billy could hide from the world; nobody who had known about this tunnel was still alive. 

Billy Bones crouched in front of me, bringing himself down to where I could see his half-shadowed face.

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here. I want to know where Captain Flint is, and I think you know. And you’re going to tell me.” 

He turned toward me at this point, his absolute certainty of his own power igniting my will to survive. I shook my hair back out of my face. I knew how to be a prisoner; I had a lot of practice at it, at cowering, at submitting to the will of large men who could easily kill me. But now I had more experience and some training on my side. 

“Why should I know where he is? You were on the ship that returned me to Charles Town; I never saw the captain after that.” I felt safe in saying these obvious truths, something that might lead him toward logic.

“Flint and the woman talked with you. Did they say where they wanted to go after Charles Town?”

I peered up at him through my fallen hair. “Miranda died at Charles Town. I saw her shot. And they sent me away after that happened, the same night.”

This gave him pause. 

“Huh. I wondered why that pirogue left while we were waiting. It wasn’t big enough to chase.”

“That’s the last I saw of him, in my father’s house in Charles Town, being beaten down by my father’s men.”

He sat down on the floor. “Then Flint didn’t go to France?”

“How would I know?” I demanded of him. “I was in Savannah for years. I didn’t see anyone from Nassau until I moved here.” I drew a ragged breath. “Flint and Miranda did talk about going to Paris when they were done in Nassau. And even if she didn’t survive to go there, he probably did. He spoke good French.” I wasn’t going to explain any of Flint’s background; it would only make things more confusing.

“You wrote everything in your journal,” he said, doggedly.

“I understand that Charles Vane took that ashore in Charles Town. I suspect it didn’t survive the bombardment.”

“What about now? Where do you write your thoughts? Why couldn’t I find your journal in your room?”

“I don’t have one. You asked my maid, and she told you no. I am saying the same. There is no journal.”

“And then there’s that McGraw fellow who is farming at the woman’s place.” Billy stood and paced, thinking. “If I didn’t know better –“

“I knew him in England. He was a friend of my family,” I said. “He is not Captain Flint.”

It seemed to be too much for Billy’s mind to comprehend. He stood and paced back and forth before me, on the other side of the fire pit. 

“Flint was wanted in England,” Billy muttered to himself. “Why wouldn’t he go to France? England can’t do a thing to him there. Or why wouldn’t he change his name and go to the Colonies?”

This was perilously close to a mirror image of truth, and this was a glass I did not want him to look into.

He seemed to come to a decision. Without a word, he sliced the rope around my ankles, which had made them quite numb, picked me up off the ground and carried me outside. , and seated me on my horse, hands still bound behind me.

“What are you doing?” I cried.

“We’re going down to that farm, and I’m going to find out if Flint is there. And if he is, I’m going to kill him.”

“And if he’s not?”

“I guess I’m going to brush up on my French a bit more.” He took the horse’s reins in hand and started to walk, leading us out of the narrow, rough path onto something a little wider.

I looked around wildly; Billy ignored it. I didn’t dare to say anything or scream; he was too strong and I was tied. But I still held small stones in each hand, and one of them was broken, with a sharp edge.

When we came to a crossing of paths, and took one that led through the trees toward the farm, I looked back at the turning, and the one we had not taken. It took a moment for me to realize that I was seeing someone lying on the ground, and the dirt around him was dark. And that he wore the remnants of a Scotsman’s kilt.

I turned back and concentrated on where Billy was leading me, my mind roiling with this information. Only Israel Hands could kill that quickly – and that silently. He had to be nearby, watching. 

I was not alone.

***

The path wound downhill, and seemed to take an age, a century, though I realized I was also counting the timing of my breaths, trying to slow them so that I would not feel quite so panicked and helpless. If I had not had my hands bound behind me, if I had held the reins myself at this slow walk in the late afternoon, it would have been a pleasant ride; my horse had comfortable gaits, and was not easily excited. I comforted myself with the thought that my calmness helped to keep Cappy calm as well, though I noticed her ears twitching back and forth, listening to both of us at once.

I half expected Israel Hands to jump out into the path, weapons in both hands, but that did not happen. Perhaps the low-lying bushes were not thick enough or the situation not suitable enough for a good ambush. Or perhaps it was yet to come. 

But that wasn’t up to me. What I could do, while keeping my face still, was rub that sharp stone against the rope around my wrists as best I could. 

We came around the last bend in the path, into the open, and into the dooryard for the farm. Thomas was standing on the porch with a broom, sweeping it off. He looked up and his eyes narrowed, but he kept control over his face enough that it appeared that his mild frown was occasioned by the sun in his face.

“Hello, Abigail! Was I supposed to be expecting you today? Did I confuse the dates again?” he said in a mild, welcoming voice.

“Thomas, this gentleman is looking for someone,” I said. I was proud that my voice didn't tremble.

Thomas seemed at this point to register the fact that my hands were behind me. And I noticed that he was wearing a sword – not an epee, but a longsword. The length of it was less noticeable against his long legs, but it was there.

“Would you like something to drink? Or to eat? I could make some tea—“

“My name is Long John Silver,” said Billy Bones. “And I am here to find Captain Flint. You will tell me where he is, or this girl dies.”

“Oh, you don’t like tea.” Thomas’s voice was obnoxiously calm. “I could probably find some rum, or perhaps some whisky—“

“Did you hear me?” Billy had dropped the reins, and was advancing on Thomas; Billy’s hand was on his sword.

The rope parted. I brought my arms around – oh, they were stiff! I kicked Cappy hard and sat back in the saddle while leaning forward, my feet firm in the stirrups, and she reared and struck out with her forefeet. When I shifted my weight in the saddle, she turned aside and began to curvet and dance away toward the road. She threw back her head and neighed, a fierce cry like a trumpet; I leaned forward and caught one of the loose reins, though the other one still dangled from the bit.

Billy, brought off balance by this sudden rebellion, turned, pulled his sword and came toward me, with the clear intent to bring the horse under control and me with it. I grabbed the all-but-forgotten umbrella and sprang it open in his face, so far open that the whalebone snapped against him. Cappy, startled, reared again; I kept my feet down hard in the stirrups, pulled her around and signaled for her to kick out – I didn’t know if she would, but it was worth the chance. She kicked out hard with her back legs when she landed on her front feet, a hoof catching Billy in the leg and knocking him down, and then took off toward the road, very nearly out of control. We hurtled down a quarter mile toward the town, and I gradually got her to slow, apologizing to her under my breath for my rough treatment, and turning her back gently toward the farmyard.

When I reached a point where I could see and still be distant enough for safety, Billy was fighting Israel Hand, and neither was making headway. Thomas had pulled his sword and was looking for a way to get into the fight against Billy without getting in Israel’s way.

And James McGraw, looking every bit the pirate, crashed into Billy from behind Billy’s off shoulder, making him turn away from Israel long enough that Israel was able to slice open Billy’s left arm. 

“I hear you’ve been looking for me, Billy,” James’s voice rang out in the clearing, loudly enough that it startled the wood pigeons, who took off in a cloud of feathers and wheeled overhead.

“My name is Long John Silver!” Billy fought back, despite the disabled arm, and the leg that must have been sore from being kicked. “You’re going down, Flint, once and for all.”

“You’re wrong.” Israel’s rusty voice slid under the clashing sounds of steel blades. “It’s your turn.” He and James thrust at the same time, in such a way that there was nowhere that Billy could move to avoid them both. Israel’s tomahawk followed, slashing across so fast that I did not see the motion, only the wild red spray afterward. Billy’s body stood, balanced, for a long moment and sank to the ground.

Israel Hands looked across at me and nodded once, sharply. I returned his fierce gaze, and his nod, and urged my horse forward. She moved at a careful pace, nervously eyeing the blood on the ground, her nostrils flaring. I watched him crouch to clean his sword and tomahawk on Billy’s shirt, stow the weapons in his belt, and walk toward me.

“Anything else you need?” he said.

“No, I think that will be sufficient. Thank you.”

“I did it for Madi first, you second. No matter. You’re safe now.”

He gave me a half-bow, an acknowledgement that he’d fulfilled his bargain, and walked away toward the harbor. In a few moments he was out of sight.

***

I started to dismount, and Cappy stood still though the skin on her knees was twitching, but it was a good thing that Thomas was there to catch me and steady me; my knees felt like two bowls of boarding-school blancmange, unsteady and incapable of supporting me. I clung to him, letting him hold me up while I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I had survived imprisonment. I could survive this.

Thomas’s arms were strong around me. “Brave girl, brave brave girl,” he murmured. “Do you want to see? You don’t have to.”

I nodded, and he kept an arm around my shoulders and another that I held as I stumbled toward the body.

James had knelt, putting his hand on Billy’s as the light went out of Billy’s eyes. He frowned, and rummaged in the pocket of Billy’s loose trousers, only to pull out another soft bag filled to the brim with small rounded things that clicked softly.

“Pearls?” James walked toward me and put the bag in my hand. “I think you deserve them.”

“There were more,” I said. “Billy paid Donal Burns to bring me to him; he gave him a smaller bag of these. Then Israel Hands killed Burns, over near Billy’s hiding place. It’s a cave, under the part of the fort that was damaged years ago. I think it used to be another tunnel, but was blocked.”

“We’ll go look,” Thomas promised me. “Or get the governor to have someone do it.”

“That would probably be best.” I was starting to feel incapable of coping with much more. “I’d really like to go back to the residence.” Augustus was right. I wanted a good strong cup of tea with a shot of his Scotch in it as much as I wanted to continue breathing.

“I suspect the pearls won’t be in Burns’s pocket.” James said. It was his turn to hold me up while I took a long last look at the man who had haunted my days and nights for so long. “You weren’t going to pay Israel Hands, were you?” Thomas had gone to get their two horses so the three of us could ride to the residence together and get someone to take away the bodies.

I shook my head. “Only with my thanks, which he has. He can keep the pearls.”

“Where did Billy get them?”

“He said he dived for them, in the wrecks. Said Jack Rackham dropped them there.”

“Oh, lord, these are the pearls Jack took with him to buy information about the Orca’s whereabouts.” James smile took a wry turn. “Something happened and he dropped them in deep water. And Jack doesn’t swim that well, but Billy does, always did.” He put out his hand to me; I set the bag in it and he weighed it thoughtfully. “The individual quality of the pearl matters greatly, of course, but I suspect there’s still well over four thousand pounds in this little bag.” 

Four thousand pounds. That was about two hundred years of a governess’s annual wages, not counting her board and keep. Contemplating that alone made me feel dizzy.

James handed them back to me, and I tucked them into my pocket. I felt strong enough now to stand alone, and stood a moment looking down at Billy, whose eyes were fully dilated in death. And I whispered to him, “I’m sorry you took this route. We could have been friends.” I remembered his politeness aboard the Walrus, and his easy smile. It was as if that intelligent, educated man had nothing to do with the shattered wreck at my feet. “Goodbye, Billy.” 

I walked over to my patient Cappy, who was nosing at the shredded silk and whalebone that had once been the most expensive umbrella in Nassau. James gave me a leg up and then mounted his own horse. With him on one side of me and Thomas on the other, we rode back to the residence at an easy walk.

“How did you know your horse would obey dressage commands?” Thomas asked. “Did you try some before?”

Ahh. That I could talk about. “I accidentally signaled her once, when I was riding with Anne, and realized that she was trained, to some degree. The maneuver I had signaled was not one of the easier ones, so I took a chance today.”

“You used the weapons that were at hand,” James said, pride in his voice. “The horse, the umbrella… how did you get your hands free?”

“A sharp stone from the cave.”

“Does anyone else here know you’re trained in this kind of riding?” Thomas was still marveling at it. “How did that happen? I didn’t think it was part of an ordinary education for girls. Miranda wasn’t taught it, that I know.”

I smiled, realizing as I did it that yes, I could smile again. “That was an accident, a fortunate one. My father had left instructions with the school that I attended that I should be trained to ride well; he assumed this might be a necessary skill in the New World. But he never specified what sort of riding I should learn, so when I was given the opportunity to learn more than simple riding, I took it. The master who taught me had himself learned to ride at a school in Austria, where they are teaching horses to do the kinds of movements that are on old carvings from the Romans, or so I was told.”

James laughed. “If I’d known you were someone who could ride a war horse, I would have taught you to use a sword while mounted.”

“I didn’t need a sword. I had an umbrella.” I felt light, almost lightheaded, as if I’d had the finest wine, as if the world was opening all its possibilities for me after I had been shut in and shuttered for so long. “I don’t suppose you might have a use for some lengths of whalebone and bamboo? The silk’s gone, but the frame should be good.”

“Oh, we’ll think of something for it.”


	11. Chapter 11

I did not anticipate the outcry when I arrived at the residence. Harrison, seeing us ride up, ran for the kitchen door and yelled inside, “She’s back,” and the sound of voices traveled through the house. Everyone ran outside to the yard, not only the staff but Augustus, Jack Rackham, Anne, Max, and Sadie.

“You’re all right!” Harrison’s eyes flew over me, checking for injuries. “When Burns’s horse came back without him, we were worried.”

Augustus helped me down from the saddle. “What happened? Where’s Donal Burns?”

“Dead.” I took a breath, and decided to just say it. “He betrayed me, sold me to Billy Bones for a handful of pearls. I think Israel Hands killed him. His body’s on the old trail by the damaged corner of the fort, in the woods.”

“And Billy?”

James spoke. “He attacked us at the farm. Hands and I killed him.” He paused as he dismounted. “Perhaps you could have someone locate his last shipmates? They might be willing to give him burial at sea.”

“I’ll do that.” Augustus gestured to Henry, the latest in the long list of stableboys whom Harrison was training. “Go ask the commander to have his men pick up Donal Burns’s body and see if he can be better identified. I suspect that’s not his real name.” And Henry ran off up the hill.

Mrs. Purdy, who had come out with the rest, had gone back into the kitchen, and now emerged with a small crock of her healing salve. She dabbed it on my wrists, which were raw in places; my ankles had not felt the rough rope long enough for that. “Come in, have some tea.”

“To be honest,” I said, “I would dearly love a cup of your tea.”

***

We all sat around the dining-room table, sipping tea nicely spiked with Scotch or rum, and eating whatever could be gotten up from the kitchen without much work. Mrs. Purdy, Sadie and the housemaid brought up the food, and then stayed around to listen, as did Tobermore. Although we no longer needed the security, Augustus had accepted the soldiers posted at the doors, so that everyone, upstairs and downstairs, could be there to hear it at once.

“No wonder nobody found that cave,” Augustus said. “I expect the soldiers never thought of checking the outside of the tunnel after the part within the fort collapsed.”

“That area’s covered with rocks; terrible to ride through and nearly as bad just for walking unless you can find a path,” James said. “I rode around there back before the damage was done – well, before I did the worst of it – and it’s always been a place where a horse’s leg could break too easily.”

“I’ll get that cleared out and the cave itself stopped up. And fill in the holes in the road; there’s plenty of rock to do it with.” Augustus waved away my instinctive move toward pen and paper, and took his own notes in a fine clear hand. “We’ve notified the Atalanta’s crew; they are retrieving Billy, and will give him burial at sea when they leave tonight. I’ve put it out there that he attacked a landowner, and was killed for that.”

“True enough,” said James. Mrs. Purdy had already daubed a sufficient amount of her healing salve on his upper arm, where the tip of Billy’s sword had sliced through his shirt and grazed his skin enough to bleed. The salve was making the rough edges of the cloth an interesting green, but I doubted he’d even notice.

The near-to-giddy feeling I had had on the ride back had returned, aided by the tea. “Anne, you don’t have to guard me any more.”

“Just when I got my arm back, too.” Anne smiled at me, and moved her arm easily. “But I’ll still go riding with you. I want to see those fancy maneuvers.”

“Yes, quite,” Jack put in. “How is it that we didn’t know you could ride like that?”

“You never asked,” I told him. “And I didn’t think of it until I was in the midst of things.”

“Yes, well, we all learn new skills in battle that we didn’t know we had.” He raised his glass to me and the others followed.

Later, I pulled James aside. “Billy used to be a good man. Does he have any family alive? I would write them a letter, if I had somewhere to send it.”

James considered. “I can’t see that it would do any harm. You could say that you obtained the information about his home from one of the sailors who knew him well. I suspect that might go over better than saying the infamous Captain Flint gave you the information about his former boatswain and part-time quartermaster.” 

He took a twist of paper from his pocket and tipped out a handful of seeds, which he put into his pocket. Then he picked up a pen from the small secretary, dipped it into the inkwell, and wrote an address for me.

***

> Dear Mr. and Mrs. Manderly,
> 
> In my position as assistant to the royal governor of Nassau, I am writing to tell you that your son, William, has died.

I paused. There had to be a better way to say it than the stark, “He went insane, tried to kill me and was finally murdered by pirates in self-defense.” These unknown people to whom I was writing were certainly not to blame for his actions.

I picked up the pen again.

> He had been ill in recent months, and was not in full possession of his faculties when he attacked two men and was killed in self defense. The illness caused him to be persistent in his attentions to many of us in search of someone he wanted to find who was no longer on the island, and contentious when told that the man he wanted was not available. I believe this brought about his death. 
> 
> I met him briefly many years ago, when he was still himself, and was impressed then by his intelligence and kindness. He always did what he thought was right, and he stood by the people he cared about. I have thought many times that I would have liked to know him better.
> 
> His shipmates gave him burial at sea, as he would have wished.
> 
> I offer you my sincere condolences, and hope the memory of better days will be some solace.
> 
> I am sincerely yours,
> 
> Abigail Ashe  
>  Assistant to Governor Augustus Featherstone  
>  Nassau  
> 

***

I watched the Atalanta leave harbor for London as the tide went out that evening, from the walkway above the road where, according to Jack, Eleanor had so often stared at the harbor, the same place where Max still oversaw her empire every day.

Billy was definitely gone. I had my life back. 

“You know you’re not going to fall asleep easily tonight anyway, you are still so keyed up, and rightfully so,” Max said, from next to me. “Come have some coffee. You are free now. I know how that feels.”

“Yes,” I said, and on impulse I hugged her; surprised, she returned the embrace briefly. “You are a good friend, Max.”

“I take that as a high compliment. Now go, find your table. There are some recent newspapers from London that Jack brought in when he arrived today; I’ll bring them over for you.”

When I reached the table I found that Jack was already there, a tankard in front of him.

“Abigail,” he said, when I had seated myself, “I owe you a very large apology. I should have checked out Donal Burns far better before recommending him. If he weren’t dead now I would hunted him down myself for what he’s done.”

“Or you would turn Anne loose on him, and there wouldn’t be any of him left to bury.” I said softly, and he nodded. “It is all right, Jack. I am well. Israel Hands is well, and on his way back to guard John Silver and Madi. And I have something for you.”

I took the bag of pearls out of my pocket and set it before him on the table.

“What’s this?” He tipped the bag open enough to spill two gleaming black rounds into his palm. His face went pale beneath his tan. “Where did you get these?”

“Billy had them. He lived in the wrecks, remember? He must have combed the area underwater until he found them. A few went to Donal Burns for bringing me to him; Israel Hands probably has those, and welcome.”

Jack tipped the pearls back into the bag, tied the strings on it shut with hands that shook ever so slightly and pushed it back to me. “It’s yours. You deserve it. And of the Ranger crew that normally would have received them back, Anne and I are the only survivors.”

“How much are they worth?” I asked. “James said four thousand pounds.”

“Oh, that was a few years ago, and the price of pearls has gone up a bit.” Jack leaned back in his chair, considering. “You could retire on that money. You could go to France, buy a small farm, and hire people to work it for you for the rest of your life. You could travel, or do anything you want.”

I felt my smile grow crooked with memory. “I lost everything the first time to Ned Low; then a second time at Charles Town. And now I have more than I ever thought to have.”

“What will you do with it?” Max herself had brought the coffee, and some crumbly biscuits, and she sat in the next chair. I took a biscuit and dunked it in my coffee before nibbling on it.

“I could buy Cappy, the horse I rode.” That was my first thought. Green pasturage for her, and only me to ride her, and good care all her life.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Augustus asked Harrison to recommend one for you, and Harrison picked her out of a group being shipped here as riding horses. She’s already yours.” Jack leaned his forearms on the table and tried to look persuasive. “Think bigger.”

“I could have a house built, but I like living in the residence. It’s home now.” I mused a bit. “I do need a new dress or two; I could order them.”

“You could order them from Paris, or London, or Rome,” Jack observed.

“I don’t think a London dressmaker would have any idea of this climate. I have another thought, also,” I said. “I’ll ask the wealthiest woman in Nassau for some investment ideas, and use this to make more money. And then do what I want with it.”

“Now you’re talking!” Jack crowed.

“Abigail, it would be my pleasure to help counsel and guide you on your investments. I think we can do well together.” Max smiled at me, her warm private smile that she kept for friends.

“As long as you’re sure you won’t take them back?” I had to ask.

“No. Never. They weren’t a great idea back then and they caused me a lot of problems after. You take them.” Jack nodded firmly. “Oh, I have something for you.” He slapped his chest and sides, looking for a lump in a pocket.

“I can hardly wait.“ I couldn’t help smiling. 

He pulled a small book out of one of his capacious jacket pockets and handed it to me. “I think you’ll like this one, Lady Ashe. It’s the latest satire, published in London.”

“I do like it. Thank you!” I flipped it open and read quickly through the material at the front. “Jonathan Swift – yes, I’ve heard of him. Oh, my, how do I pronounce houyhnhnm?”

“However you like. I have a copy as well. Maybe the two of us and Anne could make a reading party some night when you are not busy.”

“I think we all deserve some fun.” I said.

***

The commander of the fort sent word down to Augustus within two days that Donal Burns had been identified, from an English wanted poster. His real name was Ketrick Kerr; he had been an agent for the English during the Scottish rebellion, then had killed an English officer who crossed him, and had become wanted for that murder. After that, selling me to Billy must have been nothing to him. He had been a mercenary on the Continent until he became too well known; his move to Nassau had probably been entirely a matter of opportunity, to get away from possible arrest again, until he encountered Billy aboard the ship on his passage.

It was thought that Kerr had probably killed the Scotsman who had been found in the Wrecks, a refugee from the Scottish rebellion who may have recognized him for who and what he was.

So concluded the fort commander, who said he would send a report on both of those deaths and Billy’s demise to his superiors in England, so that those who had wanted to capture any of them would know that they’d met their end here.

The commander also sent soldiers down to clean out the cave where Billy had hidden, right under their noses, as well as Billy’s camp on Hog Island. Along with a quantity of goose bones and lamb bones, they found a heap of stolen items of all sorts, which they brought back to the fort. A note was sent around to all the people who had been victims of Billy’s known thefts, and many items were returned to their owners. Some of the few unclaimed items were tools; James went to the fort and claimed them, citing the empty tool shed at the farm as their source. He returned with hoes, an adze, a pickaxe, several rakes and shovels and other tools that would be of great use to a pair of gentleman farmers.

***

Max, who had a better sense of the perquisites of the wealthy than I did, suggested that I should have one of the pearls set in a necklace and wear it often; if anyone asked questions about its origins, I could just smile. I thought about the sneers I had received, and how wealth served as a boost to respectability for many of my critics, and went ahead with that. The jeweler that Max recommended made me the necklace, of gold and small white pearls he already had that showed off the black pearl admirably. I paid for it with the income from the first of the investments I had made, and when I wore the necklace it made me feel both accomplished and beautiful, which is surely the purpose of good jewelry.

I thought that Miranda, Lady Hamilton, and Eleanor Guthrie would have appreciated this, also. If a horse, or a china statue, or an umbrella could be used as a weapon, why should not the impression of wealth serve as one also? Especially when backed up by the verifiable fact that I was now the second-wealthiest woman in Nassau.

***

It was nearly a year later when the Falcon came into the harbor, bearing goods and passengers from England. I had been sitting nearer to the entrance of the tavern lately, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my feet while the rest of me remained within the shade. From there, I could keep an eye on the street, while still remaining relatively anonymous, at least to those who did not know me.

And it was there that I saw her, a tall straight-backed woman with light-brown hair swept back into a plain bun, carrying what might be all of her worldly goods in a sack. She was not beautiful in the conventional way, but her features were regular and well set, and something about her caught the eye. Her clothing was well made, though worn thin; she had come down in the world a little. And from the way she hesitated at the entrance to the tavern, I knew she was not destined to be one of its employees.

I stood and walked out into the sunshine, grateful for my new broader sunhat that Anne had found for me, woven of sea grass, lightweight and utterly comfortable. “Excuse me, ma’am, is there something I can help you with? You look as if you are lost.”

She turned toward me quickly, “Yes, please. I am looking for Mistress Abigail Ashe.” She set her bag down on the pavement next to her feet. “She wrote to me about my brother’s death, and her esteem for him, despite his actions, made me want to thank her.”

“I am Abigail Ashe,” I said slowly. “And it’s true, I had a lot of esteem for Billy, though he caused me great difficulty.”

“You’re not the only one,” she said, with the flash of a grin, there and gone again. “He was my little brother.” She caught my hands in both of hers and held them warmly. “I am Evangeline Manderly Randall. Your letter gave my parents such comfort, for they had been worried for many years about Billy. The fact that he was still a good man, until illness made him otherwise, helped them accept the fact of his death.”

“Oh, Mistress Randall, there was no need for you to come so far! You could have simply written to me; the merchants would bring me the letter.”

“There was need,” she said. Her eyes were deep with sadness. “Our parents died last winter of the flu and my husband as well. I had nothing left to keep the house, or the furnishings, so they went to pay the debts, and to buy me passage. All I have is here.” She nudged the bag with her toe. “And I thought that if people in Nassau could be so kind about my brother, even after his terrible deeds, then maybe there might be a place for me somewhere here.” She stood proudly as the business of the town moved around her, but with a look in her eyes that I knew all too well.

I could not resist this woman’s plea. Like me, she had cast behind her all of her past, and launched herself at Nassau without knowledge or certainty of anything other than a need to belong somewhere that she might be able to do good, worthwhile work.

“Would you like to come in here and have something to eat? We can talk a little about what you would like to do with your life.” I waved her toward the nearby table where I had sat, and she nodded and took a seat. I caught Eme’s eye, and she brought over two tankards of coffee and sugar cane, and two dishes of the day’s fish stew, along with fresh bread and sweet butter.

Evangeline’s eyes grew big; she ate daintily but thoroughly. “Thank you so much, Mistress Ashe. I had been hoping that you might kindly find me somewhere that I could earn my keep. I can cook; I can sew; I can bake; I can do all the usual female jobs, and I am literate. My father ran a printing press; I can do that, too.” She paused. “May I inquire what it is that you do?” 

Ah, so she had not missed the women of the inn working in the other room after all, but she did not draw conclusions without asking first. My opinion of her rose higher.

“As the assistant to the governor of Nassau, I deal with his correspondence, keep the records, maintain the town archives, and make sure that information gets to the people who need it.” I smiled as I sat there, thinking about Augustus’s exasperation of the last two days. 

He had been flustered and annoyed at the volume of work that had come about in the last year, what with the new section of town that was being built right up onto the hill beside the fort, and the merchant storehouses that had grown up like mushrooms wherever they could in its wake. When it took me too long to find the papers he wanted – some of which he already had in front of him, underneath three other things -- he had all but ordered me to get some help with my job. 

“As it turns out,” I said, “I am looking for an assistant. After you finish eating, would you like to come up to the residence with me and meet the governor, and see if this is something you would like? If it does not suit you – and no blame attaches to that, the work is not for everyone -- I have some friends who can find you honest and reputable work in a business in Nassau.”

Evangeline’s smile, shining in the shadows, was glorious.

**Author's Note:**

> Throughout this story, Abigail refers to wearing petticoats, rather than skirts. At that time, skirts were formal and worn for formal occasions, divided to show the decorated petticoat underneath. For everyday wear, a woman would wear her shift, stays (the era's version of a corset but not as strongly shaping), a bodice and a petticoat. Petticoats were made of sturdy fabric, not flimsy or see-through cottons as might be found now. A "bum roll" was a sausage-shaped, stuffed tube of fabric tied on just below the waist, so the petticoat or skirt would flow over it.
> 
> I am so grateful to Tinny and to Elfbiter Skysmith for betaing this monster. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


End file.
